By Your Side
by minidraken
Summary: THE LIVING THINGS SERIES: PART 2/3: Sequel to Castle of Glass! The world is at war. Harry and Tom are safe at Hogwarts and fighting their own battles. Harry himself is suffering from some strange sickness with an aching scar and a short temper. He tries to change history while keeping Tom by his side, something that is slowly turning into a disaster. Tom/Harry pairing
1. Ten Thousand Ways to Lose

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter One

_Ten Thousand Ways to Lose_

* * *

It was a sticky, hot summer morning, a heavy feeling hanging in the air. The sky was darkened by moody clouds, painting it in different shades of grey, sheltering the ground completely from the brilliance of the sun. The heat was sweltering, oppressive – bordering on depressive. Any moment now, a thunder crack would sound and the ground would be covered by piercing needles of ice cold water.

But not yet.

First, the wind would come – engulfing the entire village in a breezy storm, easing the heat somewhat, although it wouldn't be able to sweep the oppressive feeling away.

There was a skinny figure walking the gravel road up towards a lavish mansion on the top of the hill – his ruby red cloak billowing dramatically in the wind, the gravel complaining loudly from under his black dragon-hide boots. His raven black bangs moved like wings in the storm, sweeping over his pale, handsome features – obscuring and revealing his gleaming, light green eyes from view. They were sparkling with emotion – shining like stars on a clear black sky.

In his right hand he held his weapon, his wand, in a tight grip. He would not hesitate – this was something that had to be done.

He stormed up the stairs to the front door. As soon as it was opened for him the clouds were finally torn apart by a mighty lightning bolt and the world was lit up for a couple of heart beats, putting Harry's slim form into a moment of spotlight, showing his resolute expression to the world. Then, it all went dark and the rain poured down from the swirling clouds above.

Harry stepped past a gaping Mr Bryce without a word and hurried along the hallway, up the grand staircase and into the well-filled library – where he knew his target should be. And sure enough, lazily draped over a burgundy velvet divan lay Tom, his black button-up shirt rolled up at the sleeves, his long fingered hands flipping through the pages of a heavy, dark covered book in his lap.

At Harry's entrance he looked up, locking eyes with the other, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth. "He comes unannounced," he said in a soft voice, snapping the book shut to stand up, bowing sarcastically at the waist while still keeping eye contact. "What a surprise."

"I'm full of surprises," Harry answered with a leer, the spark in his eyes turning wilder still as he raised his wand into an offensive position. His grin became even wider as he noticed his target's hand twitch involuntary, clearly itching to reach for a wand of its own. But it lay on the circular table in the middle of the room, Harry had noticed at once, and was unquestionably out of reach.

"This is a long time coming," he hissed out threateningly, watching with glee as the other narrowed his eyes suspiciously and tensed up all the way from his calves up to the back of his neck.

Harry sniggered mockingly and fired off a stinging curse in his target's direction, the spell narrowly missing as Tom jumped away from the beam just in time. The other hex hit its target perfectly, making him hiss angrily as pain rippled through his right arm and down to the tips of his fingers. Harry smirked at him and raised his eyebrows in question. Tom set his jaw firmly.

They stood staring at each other for a couple of heart beats – the thunder storm crackled outside, breaking the heavy silence residing in the lavish room.

Just as Harry raised his wand again to fire of another painful curse they were interrupted by heavy panting from the doorway. "Mr Potter, please, your shoes – they're leaving a mud track!" Bryce grunted between breaths and Harry groaned inwardly; there went his upper-hand.

Tom realized this too and didn't waste any time before taking advantage. "Grab him!" he ordered the butler, whose eyes turned dim at the command. The 58 year old Muggle threw his heavy body in the direction of the wand-wielding wizard, his arms stretched out threateningly. He didn't stand a chance – of course. Both Harry and Tom knew that. But he worked as a nice distraction as Harry had to spend time on stunning him, letting his opponent buy time to go get his wand from off the table.

Bryce fell to the floor with a heavy thump once he was hit with the full body-bind curse, and Harry wasted no time in casting another hex his target's way. But it missed. Tom flew over the floor in a furious sprint and once he reached the table he grabbed his wand with the left hand, a chair backrest with the right, and flipped himself over the table and out of reach from another of Harry's vicious spells.

"We are not playing hide-and-seek, _Tommy_," Harry drawled mockingly, a cold smirk finding its way onto his lips. As an answer he got a furious red spell shot his way, but he easily side-stepped it, laughing quietly to himself.

"My mistake," Tom answered flippantly and engaged him in a vicious exchange of hexes – the room becoming messier and messier as spells missed their targets in a rapid succession. Tom was wickedly fast dodging and retaliating. Harry worked with shields, blocking the curses while he performed his answering spells with precision, keeping his head cool.

Tom was murmuring a long tirade in Latin, creating beam after beam of scorching hot light crashing against Harry's bright blue shields – being held up by a tirade in Latin of his own – when they were once again interrupted.

"WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE? BOYS! STOP THIS NONSENSE!"

They both halted for a second, turning around to pierce the wheel-bound Lord Riddle with heartfelt glares, before they continued with new vigour; as if nothing had happened.

They flung themselves all over the room – the table with chairs tumbling around the library as it was hit with spell after spell.

"YOU TWO STOP THIS, RIGHT NOW!" His Lordship tried again, but was completely ignored this time as the two in question were engaged in a vicious duel of water and fire.

"Fine!" he snapped helplessly, turning around to leave. "You better clean up after yourselves," and he was gone.

The wizards paid him no heed but continued their furious duel. Harry was suddenly hit by a heavy beam of water and hurriedly twisted out of his ruby red cloak, leaving him in a soaked long-sleeved dark blue shirt and a pair of black slacks. Tom smirked at his dripping wet form. Harry answered by shooting an answering beam of water, catching the other unaware, and then they both looked like drowned rats.

They proceeded with trying to hit each other with painful curses, spells coming out from the wand-tips faster and faster. Then, Harry finally hit his target and Tom sagged together, clutching his stomach in pain. "_Expelliarmus_," Harry intoned with a dark leer and the other's wand flew into his waiting hand, landing next to his own.

Tom looked up at him with a calculating expression, breathing heavily. Harry smirked down at him, stepping closer while shaking his head patronizingly. "Such bad, bad luck, _Tommy_. It seems you are defeated..."

He didn't have time to say anything else, however, before the young man crouching before him made a wild leap, knocking him to the ground and grabbing hold of the both wands while Harry lost his breath as he made impact with the floor.

Next thing he knew, Tom stood over him, a foot placed firmly onto his chest, both wands pointed at his face threateningly.

They looked at each other intently, Harry with narrowed eyes, Tom with a hungry expression.

Then, the other smiled widely and let out a little snigger, taking a step back and lowering the wands.

"Happy birthday, Harry."

* * *

The world was not what it once had been.

War had taken over. All over Europe and parts of Asia witches and wizards were fighting for their lives – and beliefs. Grindelwald had invaded and successfully taken over Norway and Sweden (where the dark magic school Durmstrang was located), Denmark, Germany, Austria, Hungary, Serbia – all the way down to Greece with the main base in the heart of Albania. He had used the Muggle war as a smoke screen, covering his attacks. In the midst of battle, no-one really took notice if the ones attacking were firing guns or spells – both alternatives were equally deadly.

The desperation and poverty spread all over Europe worked to his advantage as the chaos put things askew and people generally considered that staying alive was more important than standing up for their rights. Hence, there were a lot of sorcerers fleeing, settling down in Africa or America – some going as far away as they could and running all the way down to Australia.

Then there were those who fought back – staying close to the misery. Britain and Ireland had been kept from harm so far, to the great confusion of most. One would think Grindelwald would want to take hold of Britain from the start – as it held the greatest school of magic in the world. The most influential of witches and wizards congregated there, to make the greatest decisions in the magical world. It was the central part of Europe, in that regard, closely followed by Albania, and then France, that had gone unconquered as well, although, not for want of effort.

France was also an attractive spot for witchcraft, with its magical school Beauxbatons and it being the only country in Europe, if not the world, where over 50 % of the magical population consisted of Veela. Italy came as a close second, but France was no doubt the country with the vast majority.

On the other hand, Albania had a magical population of about 77 % of vampires and the remainder almost exclusively consisted of dark sorcerers. And Grindelwald was a dark wizard. He'd quite obviously focused on the darker parts of Europe to build up an army before he would take on the lighter countries – at least, that was the general suspicion and gossip going on all around Britain.

Most adult sorcerers had been called in by the ministry to fight. No matter what they worked with beforehand – everyone was expected to join the forces.

The Potters had been called in as well, of course, and were standing proudly in the midst of it all, fighting to let the good prevail. Fighting for a free Europe.

Harry's parents, who had before the war been ministry employees, were now knights of the British army. Aunt Katherine, who had been part of the Wizengamot, was a higher ranked field marshal taking orders directly from the Minister for Magic himself. Uncle Leonard, previously a well-known chef working in Diagon Alley, was now also a knight, working alongside with his nephew Harold and his daughter in law – Dorea Potter, Charlus' wife since three years back. They had a one year old son together, Daniel, the sole reason why Charlus himself had managed to stay out of the battle thus far.

He was glad to be left out of it, one could tell. He adored his son and spoiled him rotten, keeping him close at all times. Because of the war Dorea and Charlus hadn't gotten themselves a home of their own yet but were living with Uncle Leonard and Aunt Katherine in Little Hangleton still. The little baby had gotten Lora's room for his own as his 17 year-old aunt had moved over to her grandmother's house in Godric's Hollow to keep her company.

Two years ago, Grandpa James had died. He'd been 75 years old by then and had simply collapsed unexpectedly at the dining table one evening to never wake up again. Grandma Arabella had taken the loss extremely badly and had sunken down into depression at the loss of her life-long companion. She had aged abnormally fast and now looked to be over 90 years old although she was in fact barely 76. She had become delirious, had lost her grip on reality.

With Lora for company she made it through the weeks, but she was not much more than a shell of the witch she'd once been, her milky white eyes having darkened over the months to land on a dirty beige colour, making her skin look even more dusty, grey and horribly wrinkly than it already was.

The other parts of her family tried to keep her company as much they could as well. Harry spent most of his days nearby, jumping between his home and his grandmother's house in the Hollow – sometimes staying the night as well, to let Lora have some time on her own then and again.

Charlus and Daniel came over quite often as well, but the baby was very fussy and cried a lot, giving their dear grandmother headaches, so they rarely stayed longer than a few hours before they called it a day.

Harry liked the new little addition to the family and gladly carried him around, feeding and playing with him to relieve Charlus from his duties. The young father looked very worn out most of the time and Harry suspected he rarely got to sleep all night through since the baby kept waking him up at all odd hours to be fed or have his diaper changed.

That, and the additional burden of his wife and parents being at war, in constant danger, meant it was, no doubt, a tough time for Charlus. Harry knew it was, being in a similar position himself, with the rest of his family fighting for the good, while he sat on his bum doing nothing. It was slowly killing him. He wanted to fight as well! To be out there doing some good. As of now, he was useless, and he hated it! But every time he tried to convince his parents to let him join the army as well and skip his last year of studies they would scream at him and berate him for even thinking about it. They wanted him safe, they said, and that he wasn't ready yet. As if he couldn't take care of himself! He was 17 years old by now, how much more ready could he get?

But so far, he was out of luck and would, very grudgingly, return to Hogwarts in a few weeks' time.

Someone who wasn't sharing his heated feelings of wanting to throw himself into immediate danger was Tom. He was happy where he was – locked up safely in his lavish mansion, with servants and a doting father giving him whatever he wanted.

His uncle, Morfin Gaunt, was one of those unlucky people who had perished due to the war. Not in battle, mind you, no – the troll-like man had held no patriotic feelings what so ever. Actually, his hate for the magical society and the ministry of magic itself had been so fierce that once he'd gotten his regimental letter, telling him to join forces, he'd right out refused and ignored them all. Soon, there had been aurors at his door, trying and talk some sense into him. They were all swiftly killed off by the enraged man, who soon after that became a sought after criminal, chased by an angry horde of knights fighting for the good. He would not give up, would not let himself get caught and imprisoned, and was soon after that killed by the angry mob of sorcerers.

He'd left all his possessions to his nephew, although Tom hadn't cared much for them – the man barely owned anything at all except the run down shack deep in the forest. The only thing of value had been the family ring he'd carried around at all times, and it now sat snugly wrapped around Tom's right handed index-finger, the gold of the ring and the onyx gem carefully polished until it shone brilliantly in its cleanliness.

All the men of the mansion, except for the injured butler Mr Bryce, had been called in to serve in the Muggle war against the Nazi. That left four housemaids, a cook and two gardeners' wives, who had had to step in instead of their husbands who were off fighting. The stables were taken care of by the gardeners' wives with occasional help from the busy housemaids – a shaky, but necessary solution.

The family only had four horses left, as it was as much they had time and resources for at the moment. Lord Riddle sometimes managed to bully his son into riding them, but it was tough work – Tom didn't care in the least about the animals after all. In fact, he'd rather they'd get rid of them altogether instead of having to keep up the hard work of taking care of them. They held less than no value to him, quite obviously.

Sometimes, some young boys from the village came up the hill to ride the horses, keeping them in shape somewhat, but they were very scared of running into Tom and rarely stuck around.

Harry had taken pity on them and tried to talk his friend into treating the poor kids better, but had only gotten a contemplating smirk in response before Tom threw him onto the back of a horse and declared that he'd stop if Harry rode the animals instead of him.

He had given it a good try, but it was much more difficult than it seemed. The horse had a strong will of its own, and he wasn't like Tom who could command it to do what he wanted it to. It didn't take long before the horse drove its hooves deep into the dirt and refused to move however hard Harry pinched it in the sides with his heels.

"Alright, I can't do this!" he'd exclaimed in outrage and jumped off of the horseback, while his friend stood leering superciliously at him. Tom would get to keep playing with the Muggles – he'd won.

Another great change to the life at the Riddle mansion was that Thomas and Mary Riddle no longer lived there. After the drawn out legal process due to the asylum incident, they'd got freed of all charges as the judge found they'd handled the situation well. Tom was about to be taken right back into the mental institution before the Ministry of Magic stepped in and _obliviated _everyone who had been a part of the case. Lady Mary and Lord Thomas had been allowed back home, although they were put under stiff surveillance, and soon cracked under the pressure of sorcerers checking up on them as well as Tom and Morfin giving them hell on a daily basis. It was with great relief Tom Riddle Sr could at last send them off to a nearby rest-home, where they now lived, oblivious to the world around them.

Tom's father was therefore the squire of Little Hangleton by now, the so called Lord, and was also addressed as such. Harry had taken to teasingly call him "His Lordship", like the servants did, since they'd once agreed it'd be confusing if he called both his best friend and his father by their proper names. At least, that was his excuse for fooling around. Lord Riddle had found it increasingly amusing, although he'd thought it uncomfortable at first. Tom had argued Harry could start calling _him _"my lord" and use the godforsaken name _Tom_ for his father instead. The others had just laughed at him, to his great chagrin.

Somebody else who did not share Harry's feeling of wanting to fight was Lora. She was happy to stay out of it, preferring to take care of her grandmother and babysit her nephew before anything else. She looked forwards to the school year, dead set on at last finding the school kitchens, although she'd been utterly unsuccessful so far. But things were looking up, for she'd gotten a hot tip from one of her Hufflepuff friends. He'd told her the kitchens were located somewhere in the basements not far from their common room, although he wouldn't disclose where _that _was hidden. He'd said she should look out for a painting of a fruit bowl and tickle the pear once she found it. She couldn't wait to try it out. Harry found her utterly silly, but adorably cute at the same time.

Something that wasn't just as adorable was something which had happened to Harry over time ever since flying back through time. It had to be some sort of disease – but the healers couldn't find what was wrong with him. All of them only frowned at him, as if he was making it all up, and explained that the only explanation they could find would be that his symptoms originated from the odd curse scar he had on his forehead.

Harry damned them all to hell for stating the obvious.

Of course his furious headaches and weird dreams were related to the scar Voldemort had so kindly given him. Question was, why now? What had changed? Why did he suffer in pain after all this time? And what could be done about it? So far, the healers gave him no answers.

And it had gotten worse as he got older. By now, the pain was so fierce at times he fainted from it. It was horrible – it made him feel weak, as if he couldn't take care of himself. It felt like something was crawling under his skin, something he couldn't put his finger on, and it both angered and frightened him.

It was so infuriating he was consumed by fits of anger at times. Screaming, raging at little things, silly things that just riled him up for no reason at all.

He hated it; mainly because he had no idea whatsoever what to do about it. He wasn't in control, and there was no help to get.

He was left to figure it out on his own. And so far – he was out of luck.

* * *

They had decided to go through the attic of Grandma Bella's cottage in Godric's Hollow. They were supposed to be downstairs, helping Charlus cook dinner, but they'd decided to go on a much needed adventure instead. It wasn't that they were neglecting their duties – no! They'd actually taken baby Daniel with them, and he had the time of his life, crawling around playing with old bracelets and necklaces he'd found in a dusty jewellery box.

Lora had rummaged through Grandma Bella's old clothing boxes and found a couple of old-fashioned garments she tried on in front of a dusty, golden-rimmed mirror. Harry mostly thought the clothes made her look silly – with their puffy arms, laced up waist-parts and skirts that were very short at the front and so long in the back they were lugging the slopes.

Harry himself had gone through the old boxes of books lining the wall, and had soon tripped over a stack of photo-albums. Some of them were of the Potters, others of the Linwoods. The oldest one ranged as far back as to 1846 – almost 100 years ago. Sadly, there were no names of explanations written along with the pictures, so there were no way for Harry to know who the people in the photos were, although he could clearly see which ones were his relatives and who was not. Or, at least he imagined he could.

There was a photo of a toddler with jet black hair and wobbly knees – no doubt a young Grandpa James. He was being taught how to walk by a young man, looking much like him, although he stood out strikingly with his blonde hair. In the frame next to it the little toddler was held and cuddled by his mother, a very pretty and well dressed witch. Harry smiled broadly as he caught sight of her wild mop of shoulder-length black hair billowing around the neck-line of her beautiful, dark green dress. This was obviously the woman who had brought the Potter trademark windswept hair into the mix.

Next was one of the Linwood albums, which turned out to be from Grandma Bella's youth. Harry didn't see his grandmother at first, but when he did, he had to make a double-take. She was beautiful! And tall! She had curly, wild hair pulled up into a charming hairdo under a little pointy witch hat. She stood grinning widely next to a grown man who was probably her father; behind them was a great waterfall in a surrounding of lush vegetation. Harry thought he could spot a gorilla in the background and mused over if they could possibly be on vacation to the Victoria Falls.

There was something off about the young woman in the pictures, though, and Harry frowned deeply as he thought about it. He flipped pages, revealing a portrait photo of her, and suddenly it all clicked.

Her eyes! They were dark. In the black and white frame they looked dark grey – clearly not blue white as they had used to be before the death of her husband.

"Hey, Lora –" he started but cut himself off as he caught sight of her. She was currently trying on a dark green, handsome dress. One he'd seen just recently: it was the dress Grandpa James' mother had worn in her youth. It fit his cousin like a glove.

"I like this one," she stated in a happy voice. "Don't you agree? D'you reckon gran's gonna let me use it?" She made a little twirl to show the dress of, and Harry had to agree he liked it too.

"It's pretty," he said and Lora brightened up like a sun, grinning widely. "It belonged to Grandpa James' mother – look!" he said, holding the photo album up for her to see.

"Really?" she said in wonder, coming closer, squinting down at the picture. "Wow, she was a beauty, wasn't she?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, smiling softly as he privately thought about how much Lora looked like the woman she'd just called a beauty. "Hey, I found something," he said, remembering his previous thought.

"What?" Lora asked, picking a whining Daniel up into her lap as she settled next to her cousin, leaning against an old wardrobe next to the boxes of books.

"Look," Harry said and held up the portrait of their teenage grandmother. "Her eyes, they're dark. Why is that?"

Sadly, Lora didn't have any good answers to that. They looked through the pictures some more but soon had to give up because Daniel was making a fuss. They made it downstairs just in time for dinner, it would appear, as Charlus met them half way. He readily took his son out of his sister's arms and started humming a soft tune to the baby who immediately calmed down hearing it.

At the dining table they found Grandma Bella, wrapped up in blankets, waiting as the plates and pots settled onto the table in front of her. She got a glimmer of intelligence in her eyes once she caught sight of Lora and what she was wearing. She made no delay in asking for permission to use the dress and was twinkling hopefully at her thoughtful grandmother, who looked back with an adoring expression and a mischievous little grin.

"Emma would have loved for you to have it. She wore it a lot, I remember... it is probably worn out in the seams..."

"Why don't you let the tailor have a look at it on your shopping trip for school supplies tomorrow?" Charlus injected and they all agreed to the idea.

"Grandma Bella, in the attic, I found something else..." Harry said once everyone had had a serving of the steaming hot food. "You see, there were these pictures – and they were black and white, so I'm not sure! But, it looked like you had another eye colour when you were young... Well, did you?"

The old lady stared at him as if he had said the stupidest thing she'd ever heard, her muddy eyes squinting slightly. Harry was about to admit he'd been wrong when she suddenly nodded carefully, her eyes regaining some focus as she did so. "Yes. Brown. Dark brown, they were."

"How is that possible?" Harry breathed out and his two cousins stopped eating as well to listen carefully.

"Magical power," she answered and her clouded eyes seemed to bore into him as she spoke. "Powerful sorcerers with so much grasp on their magic they can see it all around them... Their eyes shift in colour – into the opposite to what they once were. I had dark brown, almost black eyes. As I got stronger, they inverted into their opposite: light, light blue."

"And that is what is happening to you now," Charlus breathed out in slight horror. "Your eyes, they're shifting back to brown. You're growing weaker, aren't you?"

"...yes," Grandma Bella said slowly, the gleam in her eyes disappearing again and she slumped back together. The youngsters looked at each other in worry. Their grandmother was apparently even worse for wear than they'd thought.

* * *

Harry was in his own room, starring at his reflection in the wall mirror that hung next to his bedside table. He thought about what his grandmother had said the day before – about how the eyes of powerful witches and wizards changed into their opposite colour.

What colour would his be if he reached that level of power?

"Red, I suppose," he murmured to himself, looking deep into his own eyes as if to find some sort of answer there. "My eyes are light," he realized, taking a slow step back from the reflection. "That means they would be _dark _red..."

A memory came unbidden to the front of his mind, teasing annoyingly with its quick snapshots and muffled sounds. "No, not Harry!" he heard, and a cold laughter. Then, green light of a curse before... before a pair of blood red eyes staring at him.

"Voldemort's eyes must have been green as well," he murmured to himself distractedly. "Dark green..."

"Harry!" came Lora's shout from downstairs. "Tom's here!"

Letting his train of thought go, he grabbed his ruby red cloak from of his desk stool and made it downstairs. In the hallway, dusting off invisible lint from the sleeves of his shirt, stood Tom waiting for him. "Tom has dark green eyes," Harry mused to himself as he walked down the last few steps of the staircase and his friend looked up from his shirt and at him instead.

"He comes announced," he drawled in good humour and the other smiled back at the irony of their last encounter on Harry's birthday. "What a not-surprise."

"I'm full of not-surprises," Tom answered with a leer and then Lora called for them to stop stalling and follow her through the fireplace to Diagon Alley.

Once there they decided to split up, Lora hurrying with her dress to Twilfit and Tattings while Harry and Tom preferred to look through the smaller shops in the less crowded parts of the alley. They went looking for a new, bigger trunk for Tom, a fresh book bag for Harry and soon found themselves in a little trinket shop selling grimoires, talismans and amulets.

Tom held up a pair of little, golden-rimmed mirrors for Harry to see, smiling softly at the other's confused expression. "Two-way mirrors. They work kind of like you thought the diary did, when we first met. They could be useful – if we were in different classes or in our dorms..."

"Sure," Harry said a bit distractedly, having caught sight of his own eyes again. "Hey, Tom," he said as the other made way to the counter to pay for the mirrors.

"Yes, Harry?" Tom said in a falsely sweet tone, digging out a few sickles to pay with and placing them onto the counter.

"Did you know that the eyes of powerful wizards and witches change in colour? That they turn into their opposite?"

"...No," Tom said, looking sideways at him as they made their way out of the little trinket shop. "That must mean he really _is _powerful then..." he murmured to himself after a bit of time for consideration.

"Who?" Harry asked a bit distractedly, looking through a shop window at a weird set of brushes, for grooming bigger magical creatures, at the same time.

"Dumbledore," Tom said non-committally, pulling him away from the shop with a tight grip on his left shoulder, a deep sneer on his face in reaction to what Harry had been looking at. "His eyes are an unnatural shade of bright blue, if you haven't noticed. They must have been brown in his youth..."

"Must have..." Harry agreed, not as intrigued by the subject as Tom seemed to be, and straightened up as he saw Lora by the end of the street, walking towards them. She was wearing the green dress now, and it definitely looked much fresher after its trip to the tailor than it had in a long time.

She caught sight of them and broke out in a wide smile, waving happily, quickening her steps.

Harry raised his hand to wave back but froze mid-way in utter horror.

Time seemed to slow down as chaos erupted around them. But Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him.

Lora.

Walking towards him with a happy smile on her lips.

Then, in the blink of an eye.

Out of no-where.

A beam of poisonous green light, hitting her in the side of her head.

And she fell, as if in slow motion, down to the cobblestone ground.

Dead.

She lay there, in the middle of the street, her wild black hair fanning out behind her, her great grandmother's green dress getting muddy from ending up in a grimy puddle. Her dark blue eyes dimmed and lifeless.

Harry felt stupefied. Numb. He couldn't move.

Then, a desperate scream tore its way out of his throat, and he bolted forwards. Tearing at the air around him, chanting desperate cries of "Lora, no, no, Lora, no, please, no".

He didn't get far – people were milling about in terror, blocking his way. They seemed to be under some sort of attack; he heard the people around him screech in fright about Grindelwald and "the dark ones".

Then, there were arms wrapping themselves around his torso, holding him back as he fought bravely to get free of them.

"Harry! Calm down! We need to get out of here!" came a hiss close to his ear, and he realized it was Tom at his back, keeping him from checking on Lora.

He fought even more bravely.

She couldn't be dead – she _couldn't_!

They were going to Hogwarts together in a few weeks, and it would be alright. She would finally find the kitchens, she would become the captain of the track team and she would keep joking around with her best friends Bree and Rowan.

She had to – _had _to! She couldn't be dead!

"Let me GO!" Harry snarled desperately, catching little glimpses of Lora's fallen body between the milling legs of the frightened mob of people surrounding them.

"No," Tom stated calmly, looking around him to see where the other sorcerers were running to. Suddenly, there were sharp _cracks_ around them as black clad figures started apparating into the alley, firing off vicious curses rapidly, wasting no time in creating complete destruction.

"The Disapparition Wards, they must be gone," Tom murmured to himself and grabbed a tighter hold around Harry's torso.

And they disappeared from the alley with a hollow _crack_.

* * *

_A/N: Here we go again... Hope you liked it! _

_Mischief managed! _


	2. Ten Thousand Promises

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Two

_Ten Thousand Promises_

* * *

The scenery outside the train window flashed by in a big blur, the dark green shapes of trees mashing together into a constant patch of forest, the clear blue sky showing no alternations in colour or texture.

It was peaceful to look at, Harry judged, as he sat pressed up against the glass surface, staring out aimlessly. He was surrounded by his friends – except for Tom who was off meeting with the other prefects – but he paid them no heed. He sat in a bubble of solitude, trying to come to terms with... well, everything...

Opposite to his and Silas' seat, lining the left side of the compartment, sat a bored looking Romulus, listening with little interest to the other two bickering between themselves. Abraxas and Alfred, who usually got along swimmingly, were now involved in a heated discussion about the war and whether the Ministry was right to call in each and every able sorcerer to fight for them.

Harry didn't really pay attention to them, though, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to bother.

Through the years he'd known them, there had been fighting, daily. They were never even somewhat close to being sweet to each other, as if it was some unwritten rule amongst them. At first Harry had felt really uncomfortable about it, not one to tolerate bullying or any sort of ill-meant ridicule, but he soon came to realize this was the boys' common way of showing they cared about each other.

To ignore someone in the group was the worst sort of thing you could do – to blatantly tell someone, without speaking, you did not care. But to fight and bicker was actually appreciated and encouraged, even! Tom got the hang of it from the start, actually being a bit _too_ malicious at times, but it took Harry a great deal of time to adjust to the conventions of the new crowd he found himself in. But he managed and fit in really well by now.

At the start of third year, Tom and Harry had kept close to themselves, taking comfort in the presence of each other while taking in the world around them with suspicious eyes. What had happened to them in the summer, with the Muggle asylum, had been all over the news and when they got back to Hogwarts they were, in some ways, viewed as celebrities of the magical world.

They were being stared at at all odd times, by not only students, but teachers as well. People seemed uncomfortable and sometimes even frightened to be around them. They rarely spoke a word to them but whispered furiously amongst themselves instead. As they walked through the hallways people hurried out of their way, never blocking, always letting them walk through doorways first.

Tom had hated it just as much as Harry had, at first. Then, he'd turned it to his advantage – what else?

Everyone knew who they were, everyone knew their names. When they spoke people listened, when they moved people followed them, sometimes literally, sometimes with their eyes.

They'd gotten themselves a peculiar sort of _reputation_, as Tom had so proudly called it. All of them had known of Harry from before, because of his Time Travelling, but few had known of Tom. Although he had earned some acknowledgement once joining the art club, few had paid any attention to him. Then – rumours started spreading inside the walls of Slytherin, and suddenly every green-clad student inside the castle had known of them being Parselmouths.

That had earned them even more admiration and respect, amongst some at least. But it wasn't until it had gotten out in the newspapers how the poor, defenceless wizard children had gotten imprisoned by Muggles and tortured for two days and two nights, before they could finally be saved.

Harry had imagined people would start mocking them, ridiculing them for not being able to defend themselves against simple Muggles. He'd been wrong. People were flabbergasted – outraged on their behalves. They obviously supported and felt for them, but they didn't know what to say in their presence. They were afraid to upset or anger them. And perhaps, afraid to _really_ find out about the horrors of which they'd been exposed to.

So they were avoided, admired from afar. Until their respective dorm mates broke the ice.

In Tom's case it had been a good thing. It had been Romulus who had asked to borrow a quill, out of the blue, and after that they all were on speaking terms again. As if they'd realized Tom actually wasn't a ticking time bomb and wouldn't blow up on them if they said something wrong.

In Harry's case it hadn't gone quite as swimmingly. For one thing, he and his dorm mates had never gotten along that well – he had simply ignored them too much. And now, they all just assumed Harry had become one of those extremists who hated Muggles and wanted all of them dead for what they'd done to him. Lambert and he had had a furious shouting match about wither it had been the Muggles' fault or not he'd ended up locked up at the asylum.

Lambert was of the opinion it hadn't – since they didn't know any better. It wasn't their fault they didn't understand sorcerers and how they worked, and they couldn't be blamed. Harry tried to defend himself by stating their ignorance was the issue and that they were a danger to many a witch and wizard.

After that, none of his dorm mates spoke a word to or even looked at him. The Prewett brothers had evidently bonded over the summer and now spoke to each other again. The group of three once again got along well, and Harry was left out of the loop to fend for himself.

That was until last year when Ignatius suddenly had broken all unwritten rules of their friendship and started dating a Pure-blood. He'd fallen completely for the one year older dark beauty Lucretia Black, and after great hesitation she'd finally consented and they'd started dating. That was the end of his companionship with Lambert and also his own brother. Harry, however, was suddenly good enough and woke up one day to find he had unknowingly made a new friend in his own dorm.

Harry had been both angered and intrigued by the whole thing and had hurried to ask Silas to tell him exactly how the blood statuses worked and why his dorm mates were so upset and had to make such a big deal of it.

He'd learned that blood statuses were all about the ancestors and the family. Either you had a wizarding background, or you didn't. The reason why some Pure-blood families would consent to their heirs marrying Half-bloods was because of the magical blood running through their veins.

Both Harry and Tom were Half-bloods, and they both had the same level of magical blood in them, despite one of them having a witch for a mother, the other a Muggle for a father. The reason was: although Harry's mother had magic she was a Muggleborn and had no history of magical ancestors – hence, no magical heritage. She was as good as any Muggle, with other words. Therefore, both boys had the equal half-half amount of Muggle and magical blood in them. Harry was half Potter, half Muggle – Tom was half Gaunt and, also, half Muggle.

To become a Pure-blood both of your parents had to come from a magical family. If that meant they were Half-bloods or Pure-bloods didn't matter – only whether some magical blood was passed on to you or not. Therefore, two Half-bloods would have a Pure-blooded child.

As for an example, Harry took a look at his own family. His grandparents were both Pure-bloods, and had had two sons. Leonard had married the Pure-blooded witch Katherine Yaxley and therefore had had two Pure-blooded children. Then, Charlus had married the Pure-blooded Dorea Black and thereby had had a Pure-blooded son of his own.

Walter, on the other hand, had married the Muggleborn witch Nicole Bird. Because she had no magical heritage only half of their son's blood was "pure", and therefore he turned out a Half-blood. However, that meant he actually _had_ magical heritage from a magical family, the Potter family. What that meant in practice was that, were he to marry a Muggle or a Muggleborn, their child would be a half-blood. _But_, if he were to marry another Half-blood or a Pure-blood their child would be Pure-blooded because both of its parents had the wizarding heritage – the magical blood running through their veins.

Harry therefore did not know if his father, James that was, had been a Half-blood or a Pure-blood. He did know his mother had been a Muggleborn, and he did know he himself was a Half-blood. But that, apparently, didn't say much.

The whole ordeal about blood purity was what hindered conservative wizarding families from intermarrying with Muggles or Muggleborns – they refused to have Half-blood children. They wanted them to be pure. However, some of them would agree to their heirs marrying Half-bloods because the children would turn out pure no matter what.

What astonished Harry was that if two Muggleborns had children the babies would also turn out Muggleborns. Because of the simple fact the parents did not have any magical ancestors behind their names. This was, apparently, the reason why most Pure-bloods would not agree to use the fairly new term "Muggleborn", because they felt it was misleading. In some cases, the Muggleborns were actually _not_ born of Muggles – but of other Muggleborns. Which was why _Mud-bloods_ was actually a much more accurate term, however harsh it sounded.

Once Silas had started explaining there was no stopping him, until Romulus hit him over the head with his textbook to shut him up, that was. But before that he'd been delving deep into the subject and explained to Harry about Blood Traitors and why there was such animosity between them and the Blood Purists.

"You see, on one hand there are those who want their children to be nothing less than Pure-bloods. On the other, there are those whose values work the other way around. They believe the Pure-blooded race is nothing less than unhealthy. That the Pure-bloods have interbred too much – don't get me wrong, some of us have! There are some horrifying examples I can think of – but that is hardly the case most of the time. It's just prejudices!

"So the Blood Traitors, right? They refuse to have their children marry in a way that will result in Pure-blooded heirs. Don't get me wrong, but the Linwood family is one of those extremist families, and word is your grandmother became sort of an outcast ever since marrying a Pure-blooded Potter all those years ago... Look, I know they're your relatives – sort of anyway – but..."

"It's alright," Harry had assured him with a shrug. "I can't say I care that much about that part of the family." And he didn't. He'd never gotten along with his pessimistic cousin Lambert, even before he accused Harry of being a Muggle hater. He'd met rest of the Linwood family a couple of times and it didn't surprise him in the least they had these weird sort of Blood Traitor extremist opinions.

Harry clearly remembered meeting his dorm mates for the first time and how Lambert had made his opinions plain as day when he had said: "You know these wizarding families and their all being related to each other makes everything so complicated. Bring on the Muggleborns, I say!"

Now he understood why it was Lambert had turned his back on his former best friend once he'd gotten himself a Pure-blood girlfriend. It was because he was a Blood Traitor – he disapproved of the possibility of Ignatius and Lucretia having Pure-blooded children in the future.

And the twin's brother, Isidorus, had disapproved of it as much as Lambert had. There was a possibility the Prewett family was as filled with Blood Traitors as the Linwood family was.

But, to Harry's great relief, most wizarding families were neutral in the whole blood purity debate and didn't care whatsoever if their children turned out Pure-bloods, Half-bloods or Squibs even.

In his opinion, it didn't matter either way. What difference did it make, in reality, what blood status one had? It felt like the witches verses wizards debate all over again – pointless and insulting.

He sat thinking about these solemn facts when he was suddenly and violently pulled out of his musings by the other occupants of the train compartment and their vicious argument.

"What I'm saying is – it doesn't make sense to call everyone in to fight when everyone doesn't support what the Ministry is trying to do, that's all!" Abraxas exclaimed irritatedly, and Alfred threw his hands in the air with an exasperated expression.

"Who in their right mind wouldn't support what the Ministry is trying to do?" he snapped, shaking his head. "We are all living in this country, are we not? Of course we have to defend ourselves!"

"But we _don't need_ to defend ourselves! We are not under attack! The war is not _here_! Grindelwald has left us alone to siege other countries – he's not interested in Britain at all!"

"How can you say that?" Alfred exclaimed in outrage, standing up from his seat to tower over his friend. "What about Diagon Alley, huh? What was that, a natural disaster of some kind? Some sort of accident? No, it was _attacked_! We were attacked! We are as much a part of this war as every other country in Europe!"

Abraxas arose to match his friend's defensive posture, stepping so close to the other their noses almost bumped into each other. "That was just _once_! It was a mere warning not to dig our own graves. To stop our attacks! It was a way to tell us we have no part in the war and should _stay out of it_!"

"I don't care wither it was one time or a thousand of times!" Alfred screeched, eyes wide in anger. "We were _attacked_, Aby, people died!"

The compartment became very silent as they all looked at Harry guiltily, all of them realizing the severity of the situation for him, being one of those who had lost a close one in the random killing spree Grindelwald had sent his knights on.

Harry stared at his standing friends with a cold expression; the chilly sparks his eyes sent them was enough for them to take a step backwards and sit down again. "Yes, people died," he said in a blood-chillingly cold voice, soft and chipped from lack of use. He had barely said a single word the entire day... week... month...

"People have died and will die before this war is over. I generally don't agree to what the Ministry is doing – but this time, it's different. Half of Europe and parts of Asia is under siege. Grindelwald is killing thousands of Muggles to create a brand new world full of nothing other than magical beings. He's taking innocent lives – killing innocent people who can hardly defend themselves against magic. And the Ministry is trying to prevent that. I say, backing out of the war with the excuse we're not concerned is not only cowardly, but also cruel and inhuman."

Abraxas paled dramatically as Harry pierced him with a cold glare at the end of his tirade, quite obviously directing the critique his way. He held the other's lead grey gaze steadily, watching as the white-blonde boy fidgeted nervously where he sat.

"Look, I see your point," Abraxas said in a soft, slightly shaky voice. "But I have lost people too! My parents are off fighting in the war, it's not just yours, and they do it even though they don't want to. Because they don't have a choice – the Ministry chase down the ones refusing to become warriors. They put them in Azkaban, or kill them if they try and defend themselves. It's not right! I've already lost my aunt and two of my cousins to this war... It's just so pointless! Stupid! Why should we have to put our lives on the line to save some other people we don't know!"

"Because it's right," Harry said confidently, while the others squirmed uncomfortably in their seats. "Because if we don't do anything now, his army will grow to the point where he can take on anything, and then it will be too late. He will not only kill off and force his control over _some other people we don't know_ – he will kill our friends, our families, maybe us as well. He won't stop before he's gotten what he wants, and that is the _entire_ world."

"Yes, but why can't we just build up our defences and keep out of the war as long as possible? We don't have to fight, we can stay neutral, don't give in! I mean, some countries _are_: look at Switzerland! Egypt! India! Spain! They all stay neutral and keep out of the fight. Why can't we? Why do we have to be so bloody heroic? It's not doing us any good, it's just killing us!"

"He does have a point," Silas said in a timid and thick voice from his scrunched up position to Harry left. "People shouldn't be forced to fight – it should be a choice. If you are going to put your life on the line, it has to be because you feel you need and want to. This situation now, it's just wrong, cruel. And if... if he'd been given a choice maybe... maybe my dad would still be alive by now, and not... not gone in some far off country. It's just so cruel – we can't even have his body back for burial."

"Yes, it's sad and all, I know!" Alfred exclaimed hurriedly. "I've lost people too – my great uncle, my aunt: you know Serena's mother – but it's as Harry says: we have to defend ourselves before Grindelwald becomes too mighty! We can't just sit here doing nothing while he takes over country after country. And we have to be united to do it! It just can't be left to those few who would sign up were it up for consideration – people would back out!"

"Of course they would, because they don't want this! They don't want to go off to war and _die_!" Abraxas shouted heatedly, piercing his best friend with a look of disgust.

"Oh, so you'd rather we took our merry time and waited until the war was upon us, then? Is that what you mean?" Alfred screeched furiously.

"Yes!" Abraxas exclaimed. "Yes, rather that than what is happening now! With people shipped off to battle away from home, against their wills. Dying like flies! And it's everyone! No one is getting away! Everyone who can fight is shipped off like some blasted sheep for slaughter!"

"Not everyone," Harry contradicted in a dead tone of voice, the others stiffening up again to look at him apprehensively. "Look at us, going back to school as if nothing has happened, although we are all adults and able to fight. But we won't... we can't do anything but watch from the sidelines as our families and friends are sent into battle. We can't be there, can't protect them, can't do anything."

"I hear you," Romulus said slowly, his deep voice claiming the attention as all eyes snapped onto the usually cold and composed young man. "I hate it. Knowing there's nothing I can do while they're away, fighting. And I can't help worrying about them, especially my brother. He's only twenty, and I _know_ him. He's skilled, sure, but... Rodolphus isn't really the calmest guy out there, he needs someone to watch his back. And I can't be there, doing that for him."

"Exactly!" Harry said, looking at his dark haired friend intensely. "I want to be there for Harold too, to make sure he's alright. We shouldn't be left out – we should fight! What the Ministry is doing is important, and we should be allowed to be a part of it."

"No," Romulus said coldly, making Harry freeze up in confusion. "It's not right – we shouldn't fight. No one should. This war is all wrong."

"Yes, but to stop it we have to fight," Harry said slowly, scrunching his forehead up into a deep frown as he met his friend's dark brown eyes steadily.

"No, we don't," the other contradicted coldly. "We don't have to fight Grindelwald over this. Let him have his countries, who cares? They're full of magical beings who will be spared and who will get to live in a society free of hiding what they are. Who cares if some _Muggles_ will die because of it? There are plenty of them all over the world, what difference will it make to drive some them out of the better part of Europe? They're already killing each other off in their own war – they obviously don't care themselves – why should we?"

Harry stared at Romulus in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth half-open. "_How can you say that_?" he growled out once having regained his composure.

The two of them sat glaring at each other for the better part of a minute while the others sat squirming uncomfortably around them. Suddenly, Romulus arose from his seat, piercing Harry with a last smouldering look of contempt, and simply walked out of the compartment. Abraxas hurried to follow him, and after a few seconds of hesitantly looking at his two remaining friends, Silas hurried after them, slamming the door behind him as he went.

"Unbelievable!" Alfred growled, stretching out over the entire sofa-like seat into a horizontal position, putting his hands over his eyes, seething in silence.

Harry turned back to the scenery outside the compartment window, watching in disinterest as tree after tree flashed by.

Behind those trees and the horizon people were fighting for their lives and their beliefs. They were dying and Harry couldn't do anything to change it. It all felt so suffocatingly pointless. Couldn't Dumbledore get on with it and dispose of Grindelwald once and for all before the damage got too great?

There was motion in the corner of his eye as Alfred arose from his lying position and started walking towards the door. Harry turned to look at him, slowly.

"Where are you going?" he asked tonelessly.

"I need to speak to them," Alfred sighed and stopped with his hand on the door handle. "This got way out of hand... Look, we're all on edge and we've all lost too much to this war. We don't need to lose each other as well. Why don't you come with me and we'll work things out..."

"No," Harry said through gritted teeth, turning back to watch the trees flying passed the compartment window. "Romulus made his opinions crystal clear. He's way out of line, _cruel_ and completely wrong. I _hate_ his way of thinking, and I can't accept it."

Alfred sighed deeply at his friend's stubbornness and scratched the side of his neck absently. "Look, I _know_ the two of you haven't exactly... become best friends over the years. I don't know why, but you don't seem to get along as well with him as with the other of us... Perhaps it's time to change that. Perhaps this war makes it even more important to tolerate and get along well enough with each other."

Harry gritted his teeth together and didn't answer. Alfred let out a deep sigh at this and walked out the door without him.

"Fine, _leave_, I don't care," Harry muttered to himself and sank back down into his own musings, oblivious to the world around him.

* * *

The sky had started to darken when the compartment door was pulled open again and a tired looking Tom walked through the threshold. He took in the emptiness of the box with confusion written all over his face and seated himself immediately opposite to Harry on the other side of the window, the little table separating them with its presence.

"Where is everyone?" he murmured softly, making Harry sigh deeply in irritation at being interrupted in his depressive thoughts.

"Gone," he said, meeting eyes with the other lazily. "Left in a fit of anger, actually. I think they all hate me now."

"Why?" Tom asked, leaning back against the backrest, making himself comfortable.

"We had a... disagreement."

"You fought," Tom concluded, feigning indifference, looking out the window as if intrigued by the scenery flashing by.

"Perhaps..." Harry muttered silently, crossing his arms over his chest, not liking the feeling he got of being a naughty child being lectured. He didn't deserve that – he wasn't in the wrong this time!

"About what?" Tom drawled lazily, as if he didn't really care either way.

"Well," Harry sighed, looking away but still feeling the eyes of his best friend burning a hole into the side of his head. "They were arguing amongst themselves about the war. Then I found out _some of them_ would rather we sit on our bloody asses while the world burn to crisps under the wand of Grindelwald. And it escalated from there... with the whole lot of then storming out and leaving me behind... and now, I suppose they will be _ignoring_ me..."

"I see," Tom said tonelessly, sitting in silence for a while, as if the conversation was over with in his opinion.

Harry turned to him in annoyance. "You _see_, do you? Well, you probably _agree_ with them as well! You probably _want_ Grindelwald to succeed – don't you?"

Tom just looked at him in silence, not making a move to even acknowledge he'd said anything at all. "_Don't you_?" Harry prodded angrily at this and the other sighed deeply, rubbing his temples slowly as if suffering from a nasty headache.

"Harry, would you stop with this pointless drama and look at the situation logically? Calm yourself – you're getting angry again."

"You _know _I can't help it!" Harry hissed out viciously, making Tom sigh deeply again. "It's this _disease_, this... _sickness_ because of the _scar_! It feels like there's something crawling under my skin... it's just – I'm just so _angry_, all the time!"

"I know," Tom sighed and pierced him with a dark glare.

"Good, you know, so _stop bothering me about it_!"

"Hold it!" Tom hissed, holding his right palm up in a halting motion. Harry took a deep breath and tried his best to calm down. "Stop with your dramatics! What does it matter what I or you or the others think of the war? We already know how it will end, don't we? Grindelwald _won't win_, so _stop making a fuss_!"

"I'm not making a fuss," Harry contradicted sulkily, making Tom raise his eyebrows in disbelief. "And I _know that_! I know he won't win, that Dumbledore will defeat him eventually, next year... but I don't know how or exactly when and where... or if my family will make it out of the fight intact. I want to _be there_! I want to help them!"

"Well, you _can't_!" Tom said in a dangerous tone and hurried to continue speaking when Harry made to interrupt. "And not because of some sentimental reasoning of your education or the Ministry not allowing students from Hogwarts to quit school to join the army. No, it's not because of that – we've been over this – it's because of _fate_!"

Harry scoffed at him, shaking his head.

"Yes," Tom hissed out impatiently. "Fate. You know that we will win this war. You've seen it in the future. And we both know that whenever you interfere with something, fate changes. And there is no way for us to dictate in what way, unless what changes is something simple and easily determined from the start. As when you hunted Prince down to prevent her from marrying that Muggle... That was easy. Joining the war will not be! Risk is the fate of the world will change if you intervene, and Grindelwald winning the war suddenly becomes a possibility. As I said – calm down and look at this logically!"

Harry took another deep breath and did as his best friend asked. Tom was right – he _had_ looked at all of this from an illogical angle. What everyone thought didn't matter, for he knew Grindelwald would lose either way. And to ensure this, he had to stay out of the war.

This wasn't the first time Tom had told him this. Not by far. Actually, the other had made this point over and over again for the past month whenever Harry lost it and did his best to sneak off, trying to join the war whatever everybody else said. That Tom lost his patience with him now after pressing the point into exhaustion came as no surprise to him.

Tom had first made this point _that_ day. The day of Lora's gruesome death.

He had apparated them directly to the front porch of Harry's home in Godric's Hollow and pulled his catatonic friend inside. He'd settled them into the living room sofa, grabbing hold of Harry's both shoulders to stare deep into his eyes.

"Calm down," he'd said, but Harry hadn't been able to. He'd hyperventilated furiously, trying to shake the other off of him to stand up and return to the fight in Diagon Alley. He wanted to go back, to save Lora. There was some part of him refusing to accept she was dead. That she wouldn't return.

But Tom hadn't let go of him, had held him in a strong grip, explaining why Harry couldn't intervene with the war over and over again until he stopped struggling. Then, he'd broken down into raw sobs and buried his head close to Tom's heart.

They'd still sat like that, Tom with his arms around Harry as the other cried desperately into his shirt, when the front door had burst open and the desperate looking Walter and Uncle Leonard had stormed inside, still wearing their war uniforms. Tom had explained the situation calmly to them and it all had escalated from there.

The Potter family was in ruins – devastated – crushed beyond repair because of what had happened to Lora.

After the funeral they'd all been acting like walking corpses, and Harry suddenly had something else to worry about concerning the war – that his family's collective depression and lack of fighting spirit would get all of them killed.

But he also knew Tom was right. He couldn't intervene if he didn't want to risk Grindelwald winning the war because of it. But it still felt horrible just sitting watching from the sidelines as his family was put into dangerous situation after dangerous situation. He simply felt useless.

He'd been told he had a greater purpose – that he could _change things_. In his dictionary, that didn't mean doing _nothing_. And he was devastated that was exactly what he would have to do this time.

And what was slowly killing him was the thought of it being _his fault_ Lora was now dead. That if they hadn't split up in the Alley she wouldn't have gotten in the way of that stray curse. If Tom and he had followed her to the tailor she wouldn't have been walking that street in her search for them. Perhaps she wouldn't have even been in the Alley that day if it weren't for him – maybe she would've gone another day, surviving.

Tom had argued against it. That Lora would have found the dress regardless of Harry, since she was to one who came up with the idea of searching through the attic in the first place, since it was she who had found the dress and tried it on while her cousin did something else. He'd argued she would have gone to the tailor with it regardless of Harry's intervention because it had been Charlus' idea and not his. He'd also said that perhaps by going with her they could have saved somebody else from dying in the attack, as they might have otherwise come with Lora on her shopping spree. Perhaps Charlus was alive right now because of them. Perhaps Grandma Bella or some of his cousin's friends were alive now because of them.

Harry had let himself get convinced into agreeing this was true. Although, deep down he still held a seed of doubt. Because there was no proof. They couldn't _know_ for certain that Lora hadn't died because of him.

He should have been able to save her. He should have kept closer still to make sure she'd be alright. For it seemed: for him to be able to change things he had to be directly involved. Otherwise, everything would happen as it was planned out. As it would have had he not Time Travelled.

If there was something he _dearly_ wanted to prevent, he would have to engage wholeheartedly in it. Otherwise, risk was it wouldn't change at all.

These thoughts in mind, Harry looked at his best friend and nodded slowly. "You're right," he stated and made another effort to calm himself down. He rubbed at his scar as it stung viciously as if in protest.

* * *

The clock was nearing five and they were getting very close to Hogwarts when Tom arose from his position by the window and opened up his trunk to put the heavy book he'd been reading away. Harry's interest perked up as he caught sight of a canvas lying innocently on top of everything else inside of it.

"That for the after-summer exhibition?" he asked kindly. Tom smiled softly and picked the painting up to show it off.

"It is," he drawled in a satisfied voice and held it up for Harry to see. The first thing he noticed about it was that it was very dark. Only painted in black, white and different shades of grey. It depicted a white skull in a sea of skeletons. The hollow eyes gaped empty, but through the mouth slithered a black and white adder – it's shining red eyes the only colour there was to the entire picture.

Harry had an uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu: as if he'd seen the painting somewhere before this. Was that possible?

"It's good," he said in a light voice and Tom's smile widened at the praise. "How did you come up with it?" Harry continued to ask.

"The motif is from a tombstone in Little Hangleton. From the grave of my grandfather, actually. Marvolo Gaunt – the symbol was carved in directly under his name on the stone. A simple skull with a snake crawling out of it. I found it striking, for some reason, and the image wouldn't get out of my mind until I painted it out."

Harry thought really hard about where he'd seen the painting before as the train finally came to a halt at Hogsmeade station and Tom locked his trunk closed securely, obscuring the mysterious snake and skull from view.

They made their way towards the castle grounds and boarded the same carriage to take them to the castle's front gates. They both froze in place as they both caught sight of what was pulling the carriages forwards.

"Thestrals," Harry breathed out and Tom nodded silently. They could both see the thestrals now, since they'd witnessed death. Harry found it deeply depressing, and got a heavy lump in his throat as he sat down in the carriage, staring out at the surroundings without really seeing anything.

They entered the castle and sat down at their respective tables, waiting for the clock to strike six so that the sorting ceremony could commence.

Harry sat in silence through it all, trying not to look at the empty spot next to Bree and in front of Rowan where Lora would have been seated if she hadn't...

Violently breaking that thought-chain he turned his eyes onto the head table instead and saw to his relief the sorting was finally done and over with. Professor Dipped had taken his place at the front and was just about to make his annual speech. Harry flicked his gaze onto the Slytherin table and noticed with a jolt of amusement that Abraxas sat trying to set the headmaster's beard on fire with his eyes as he always did during the welcoming feast.

He was filled with affection for his Slytherin friends and decided then and there to make up with them as soon as he could. Tom and Alfred were right – he shouldn't hold a grudge. The war put a strain on everyone. It was nothing to fight about amongst themselves.

Something Professor Dippet said caught Harry's ear and he snatched his gaze to the front to listen closely for once.

"... will be taking the place as Transfigurations Master as Professor Dumbledore has, as many others, gone off to fight in the war. He left his responsibilities over Gryffindor house to Professor Merrythought with his dearest wishes of a good year of studies for each and every one of you. Now, all new students should know that the forbidden forest is forbidden, and that..."

Harry tuned him out to ponder about the new turn of events. Dumbledore had finally left for the war? Why now? What had changed?

Then, he realized something _had_ changed. Britain had been attacked – they were now an active part of the war and Dumbledore probably felt he had no other choice than to leave the students behind and fight Grindelwald as well.

This was a good thing – not only because Harry knew Dumbledore would eventually take the dark wizard down, also because he was wicked powerful. He was supposed to have been the only wizard Voldemort ever feared. With him in the middle of the battle, Harry felt assured everything would be alright.

Harry's mind promptly froze as he was struck with a sudden thought. About Voldemort.

Voldemort had started a war as well – and he'd have an army of sorcerers fighting on his side, called the Death Eaters. _Dark_ sorcerers, that was.

A memory came unbidden to the front of his mind as he pondered about this. He was standing in the Leaky Cauldron, Snape having a firm grasp on his shoulder. In front of him stood his school rival with father, who was trying to hold them back with pleasantries: "Wouldn't it be a pleasure to, perhaps, have lunch? For _old time's_ sake? At a _private_ setting?" Lucius Malfoy said.

_For old time's sake_.

Harry recalled another memory featuring his old professor from that very same day, at the dining table when Snape had confronted him about self-inflicted scratch marks on his knees.

"These are scratch marks, Potter" he had bit out and whipped his wand over the wounds, making Harry's knees tickle slightly while the skin grew back together. As Snape had made his hasty wand movements the rolled up sleeve on his left arm had slowly slid back, showing off the base of a weird looking tattoo, portraying a snake crawling out of a staring scull.

_A snake crawling out of a staring scull._

Harry then recalled something from about a month ago, from that fateful day when Lora had died. He'd been walking down the stairs, towards Tom standing at the foot of them, looking up at him. "Tom has dark green eyes," Harry had thought.

_Voldemort's eyes must have been green as well: dark green_.

It all came together, like a large puzzle of reason being laid out on the table in front of him.

Snape had been a Death Eater – so had Lucius Malfoy.

But what more was – he now knew why he hadn't heard anything of Tom in the future. Because he had stopped using that name before Harry was born.

He'd taken on another name.

Lord Voldemort.

* * *

_A/N: Gaaaaah! I swear: this chapter was trying to kill me! Thank you my dear readers for the continued support – it gives me wicked strength! _

_Mischief managed! _


	3. I Saw the Evidence

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Three

_I Saw the Evidence_

* * *

He should have seen this coming.

He ___really _should have seen this coming.

___Why _hadn't he seen this coming?

It was so overly obvious – Tom was Voldemort. Who else could possibly be, except for Tom?

Evidence was in the way he constantly wanted to hurt those around him.

Over the past few years the malicious thoughts had gotten worse and worse, to the point where Tom no longer voiced them to torment his friend, but rather because he couldn't manage to hold it all in. Harry remembered one instance in particular when this had been especially evident.

They'd been in their fifth year of studies, and Professor Slughorn had finally decided them old enough to attend his lavish ___Slug Club _meetings. It had been a festive dinner of sorts in the professor's private chambers with students ranging from fifth year and upwards. Besides the two of them being invited, Harry for his fame and Tom for his merits, both Abraxas and Alfred had come with, along with Serena Melpomene, the Minister for Magic's daughter. Otherwise, the other guests had been from the older years.

Being the youngest in the bunch they were soon ignored by the others, and Tom had started fuming in outrage at this, furious at having to watch how the other got praise and flattery from his flushing Head of House, while ___he _merely became a passive observer.

On the outside, Tom hadn't change a bit from the polite persona he sported while others watched. But Harry knew him well enough by then to catch the signs of displeasure beneath the surface. It was in the way he twitched occasionally, as if there was a persistent fly in the corner of his eye. How he started preening himself, dusting the sleeves of his robes off carefully, ridding himself of invisible lint.

Then had come the hissing. His lips barely moved, and the sound he made had been so low only Harry had been able to catch it, being the only one in the room who could understand the words spoken.

"A family with a vault filled with gold, I see. Now, Slughorn, that's all you're after isn't it? Well, perhaps I should take you to ___my _vault and see what you say when I trap you there. There isn't that much ___gold_, perhaps, but never mind that. Let's hear those desperate screams and pleadings, shall we? Perhaps I could take you out to play a bit once in a while. You are in grave need of some exercise after all, you ___fat bloodsucker_-"

"Hey!" Harry had exclaimed under his breath, fixing the other with a cold glare, as discrete as he could make it. "Stop that!"

"You want me to stop, do you?" Tom had said, piercing him with a glare of his own. "Well, I might as well. There's no helping it, I'll have to do something about it then, if I can't let out the frustration by talking about it."

"You can't be serious!" Harry had exclaimed in disbelief, shaking his head in warning. But Tom had been absolutely sincere, and hadn't calmed down again until the dinner was over and they'd retreated out into the corridors to retire to their respective dormitories.

After that instance he'd started hissing out his fits of anger under his breath, only for Harry to hear. And he'd let him, preferring to listen to the misery rather than having to deal with his friend going one step further and making his fantasies into reality. It was commonplace for him by now, although it was in no way normal, needless to say.

More evidence lay in how he excelled in magic so dark Harry's hairs stood on edge just from standing too close to it. He had taken a tentative step over the grey line himself and gotten used to the entire magical playing field. But Tom had taken it to a whole new level altogether. He had no qualms whatsoever about what kind of spells he learned. He used them all – everything he could find. And when he didn't find anything sufficient enough, he put enormous efforts into creating the spells he needed on his own.

You could also find evidence in how he continuously craved power, enjoyed people's fear of him and gathered people who admired him like a possessive dragon gathered jewels.

In their fifth year Tom had made it perfectly clear he would not sit around and wait another year for the duelling club, the Deviant Squad, to accept them into their midst. To join the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor based Patronus Patrol wasn't even up for consideration, in his opinion. No, they would have to create their own club, he'd decided.

Harry had tried to argue they had enough on their plates already, and didn't need any more free time activities to keep them occupied. Harry still had Quidditch practice then and again, as well as classes and the occasional Slug Club meeting to attend. So did Tom, besides his Art Club activities and his prefect duties.

But that hadn't been enough for his friend, for the next day Harry had found himself in Professor Slughorn's office, filling in the necessary forms for creating a new activity club for the school.

Why Tom couldn't do it on his own was beyond him, but that was the case anyway. He suddenly found himself co-leader for a new duelling club named _T____he Severers_. And people started to join immediately, particularly Slytherins who were eager to learn from the secret (or in Slytherin not so secret) Parselmouths of the school. The whole situation nauseated Harry to no end – but he kept up with it anyway, and found himself actually enjoying sharing knowledge and learning from others about all sorts of spells and tricks useful in a one-on-one duel.

All of this evidence should have clued him in on Tom's true identity as Lord Voldemort. Or, perhaps ___evidence _wasn't the word he was searching for___. _Clues, suggestions, fleeting thoughts was perhaps a more accurate way of describing it.

However, evidence, truly, was in his eye colour, in his love for snakes and skulls and in his sadistic behaviour. There was suddenly ___proof_. One could point to either one of these things and come to no other conclusion than the truth.

Harry should have seen this, way before. The thing was – he had been so sure he'd be able to live years and years before having to start worrying about that monster who had killed his parents. Voldemort didn't turn up until in the 1970's after all; he'd thought he'd have plenty of time.

It turned out he didn't have any time at all.

Voldemort was his best friend – or rather: his best friend was Voldemort.

There was no avoiding him.

Voldemort was already among them.

Or, that wasn't really true either. Tom was still ___Tom_, after all. He hadn't done all those vile things Voldemort had.

Yet...

Harry tried his best not to look the other's way through the rest of the feast. His mind kept running the word ___Voldemort _over and over again, like a scratched disk record getting stuck on a note, repeating it into eternity. It was starting to give him a headache.

He engaged Ignatius in a half-hearted conversation about the summer while staring resolutely into his eyes as to not letting them stray off to the green-clad table behind him. It was a struggle he was bound to lose.

"Yeah, the summer was pretty rough," Ignatius confessed while stealing short glances his brother's way, probably trying just as hard as Harry himself was not to look.

The Prewett twins had thinned off over the past few years and were no longer plump but still not quite skinny either. They still had the exact same face-shapes, the same almond shaped brown eyes and the same way of managing to dress properly while still making their uniforms look messy. The main difference between them was their hair that, on one hand still was the exact same shade of wheat blonde, but on the other was made in completely different shapes. Ignatius had let his hair grow down to rest against his shoulders, creating a wild mane of hair that flowed in the air as he walked, while Isidorus had followed his friend Lambert's example and cut his hair short in a licked back muggle hairdo that was oh so typical for the 1940's.

Ignatius looked quite depressed where he sat opposite to Harry, playing with his food, trying not to look his brother's way. "Things got pretty bad at home, what with the war and all... Mum and Dad's a bit pissed Isidor and I can't join them in the war. And with me still dating a Pure-blood and all, they barely kept from throwing me out altogether. Guess they must have some sort of maternal and paternal feelings for me still..." he mumbled bitterly, poking his roast beef to death with his silver fork.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry said with sympathy, making the other smile faintly back at him. "So, how's Lucretia anyway? Still joined at the hip with her cousin?"

"She is," Ignatius confirmed with a dark look in his eyes. "And it's gotten worse now that they're out of Hogwarts and left to their own devices. They've actually moved in together in a small apartment in the middle of London. And they won't leave each other's sides, even for a minute! I can't even kiss my own girlfriend properly because Walburga will be there constantly, watching my every step with those hawk eyes of hers."

Harry laughed in good will and gave his friend a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "I feel for you, mate. Walburga was always a bit of a... well, let's say Alphard has told me a thing or two about his big sister..."

"All of it true, I bet," Ignatius said smiling faintly, shaking his head in regret. "Merlin, I hate her so much."

"You're not wrong, Ignis, you're not wrong," Harry said, toasting him with a goblet of pumpkin juice. They both ducked as the Gryffindor house ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, came zooming over them on his way towards the upper side of the table where the first years had seated themselves after the sorting.

"I'm just scared for her, you know," Ignatius said after taking a sip out of his own goblet. "I don't know for how long she'll be able to stay out of the war before she gets called in. The logical part of me is telling me the ministry usually gives you one year after the studies to settle in. But another part of me is worried they will suddenly change the rules. That she'll be forced to fight although she's only 18. I know it's silly, but-"

"It's not," Harry said in a clear voice, locking eyes with the other to make his point clear. "It's not silly to worry. You care about her, it's only natural. But it's not very likely the Ministry will change the rules – that first year away from school is too important after all. One can't be expected to go directly from school to war, it just won't happen.

"Sadly... Or, perhaps not in this case but... as for me, I would give everything to be able to fight."

"You would?" Ignatius asked in disbelief, looking at him with wide eyes.

"I would," Harry confirmed simply, before glancing over the other's shoulder, unable to keep his eyes away from the Slytherin table as his constant arguing with Tom came to mind, which made him think about what he'd realized about Voldemort. He hurriedly snapped his eyes away and pushed the wild thoughts to the back of his mind, doing his best to concentrate on the conversation he tried his best to hold up.

"I think I should be able to say the same thing, but... It's rather what's expected of me and not what I truly want," Ignatius decided to reveal, studying a potato pierced by his fork, with great interest.

"I'm scared," he confessed, his cheeks flushing dark red. "I don't want to die. Not yet."

Harry wanted to tell him it would be alright, because he wouldn't have time to get called in to fight before the war was over – that he didn't need to worry. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't go around telling people how the war would end. If he did, perhaps things would change. It was already bad enough that Tom and Headmaster Dippet knew Dumbledore would defeat Grindelwald in 1945. He really couldn't afford for word to get out to the magical world at large.

So he hurriedly switched subject and served himself a great helping of desserts, while resolutely keeping his eyes off the Slytherin table on the other side of the hall. Midway through the last hour of the feast Rowan and Bree scooted closer and joined in on their conversation. Harry got a heavy lump in his throat and didn't say much, still sore as he was knowing Lora should be there among them.

Finally, the clock struck ten and the feast was over. Rowan, the female Gryffindor seventh year Prefect, helpfully revealed the password to them before she hurried off in Lambert's direction to share the duties of guiding the first years to the common room. Harry saw, in the corner of his eye, how Tom and Dido Burke did the same in the other end of the hall, and hurried to follow Ignatius out of the hall and out of sight from his green-clad friends.

He needed at least one night's sleep to come to terms with everything before facing them in classes tomorrow.

* * *

The rain was pouring down the window as Harry sat staring out. A flock of black birds flew past, making his stomach soar in slight surprise, but not enough to distract him from his thoughts.

The last couple of days had been... weird for him. The new knowledge of what his best friend was to become unsettled him horribly. Tom would murder his parents – or would have had things not changed.

Harry was under the belief that he had gotten himself involved too much in Tom's life for his future to turn out exactly the same. At least, he hoped so. Because, if Tom was to become a soulless, vicious creature of evil – he didn't know what to do.

Voldemort was the bane of his existence. The one thing he hated with all his heart. There were no mixed feelings there. Solely pure contempt.

Harry bored his eyes into the glass material of the window, not truly seeing it. The rain poured down outside, making it look like the window itself was crying.

"You seem distracted."

"What?" Harry said and twitched his head sideways to peer at the other at his side. Tom's forehead was scrunched up in a frown, his dark eyes intent. He was tapping his quill slightly against the parchment in front of him on the desk, but he didn't seem to notice it.

"Distracted," Tom repeated, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, the tapping increasing in speed. "What are you thinking about?"

"I'm not thinking," Harry denied hurriedly and turned his head away to the scroll of parchment he was currently sitting writing on, or, was ___supposed _to sit writing on.

At the front of the classroom stood the new Transfigurations Professor – a prim, old lady by the name Mrs Croft. She was hunch backed, took slow steps in shaky movements, gripping a wooden cane in one hand, her ragged wand in the other. Her best merit was her bad hearing, her worst her keen sense of rules. They were to be followed – at any cost.

She'd once passed Harry in the corridor and decided to randomly fix his usually loose tie-knot with a wave of her wand, resulting in him panicking when he couldn't undo it. He still had very clear in his mind being tied to a bed in a slim, all white room. A tight tie-knot felt too restricting, and the fear of losing air had seeped unwelcome into his mind.

Despite his breaking down into an hysterical heap on the ground, she hadn't reacted in any way, but just continued walking. Harry had hurried to learn the counter curse, but he didn't think he'd ever be able to learn to like his professor.

Not one bit.

"You are thinking about something, and it's obviously bothering you," Tom contradicted in a drawling voice, writing lazy sentences onto his own parchment. Harry scowled down at the neat script, wishing it wouldn't be so elegant-looking, since it was making his own writing look like random symbols drawn by a three year old.

"Yeah, well I guess the thought of us having to learn how to turn a living pig into a goblet is rather disturbing. I mean – when could we possibly need to use it?" The corners of his lips jerked twitchily, as if he was holding back a laugh. In truth, it put to show how unsettled he was, sitting next to Voldemort. Or rather: would-___perhaps_-be-Voldemort.

"Very funny," Tom said, unimpressed and unamused by the attempt at a joke, and continued his neat scribbling.

"I'm a funny guy," Harry said in mock superiority, merely earning himself a quick, mistrusting glance from the other.

"Is this about the war again?"

"No," Harry said in a long suffering voice, sounding a bit whiny in nature. He was sick and tired of talking of the war already. If he could ignore it until it all disappeared, it would be great.

"Romulus got to you again?" Tom asked flippantly, stabbing a dot at the end of a long sentence and moving his hand in a sweeping motion to start anew in the empty space below.

"No, we've made up already, you git. You watched it, front row," Harry couldn't help but snap irritatedly. Really, how much of a drama queen did Tom think he was?

Right after breakfast the morning after the welcoming feast Harry had approached the group of Slytherins he liked to call his friends to put things right between them. Things had been stiff at first, and Tom certainly hadn't done a thing to better the situation, the non-meddling bastard. It had been relatively easy to convince them to look past their views on the war and focus on keeping their friendship running no matter what. Even Romulus had agreed, although reluctantly, that this was a wise solution.

Things weren't good between him and Harry, by any means, their views were truly way too opposing for that, but they could stand being in the same room without cursing each other again.

"What, you worried about the Apparition test you're taking this weekend, or something?" Tom continued to probe, ignoring the other's poor mood completely.

"No," he said, writing so furiously on the parchment he left a big blob of ink where the dot was supposed to be. Of course he wasn't nervous about his Apparition test! He'd mastered the technique already: last year on their weekly Ministry held lessons in the great hall. He'd been able to apparate since he was sixteen – although he hadn't been allowed to take the test because of that.

No, that didn't bother him at all – and Tom knew that! Why did that bastard have to ___pry _into ___everything_? And it was all the more annoying since he couldn't shove him off with the truth. He couldn't just right out tell him what he knew. Of course he couldn't tell his best friend that the reason for his distraction was that he might eventually turn into Voldemort!

"Then ___what _is it?" Tom, who naturally wouldn't just let it go once he'd sniffed something out, growled and Harry lost his marbles as a searing throb made itself known in the depth of his forehead, right below the zigzag shaped scar.

"Back off!" he growled, and the entire class turned in their seats to look at them. That caught the attention of the nearly deaf Professor Croft, at last.

"Mr Potter," she snipped, taking a few shaky steps forwards, the cane clanking loudly against the stone floor, making Harry's head ring painfully.

"Yes, miss?" he said warily.

"Five points from Gryffindor for disturbing the class," she said in a shrill voice that reminded Harry of his late Aunt Petunia. He sent her a mild glare, but straightened up, ready to comply and stay silent for the remaining time of the lesson.

Professor Croft wouldn't let him off the hook that easily, though, and continued her slow trekking towards him. "And what have I told you about the state of your uniform? Buttons shall be done and tie shall be-" she made a stabbing flick towards him with her wand, making his collar restrict till he could barely breathe.

"There," she said with a pleased smile. "Much better."

Harry could feel his forehead break out in a cold sweat, his breathing speeding up as the stone walls of the castle seemed to move in on him. Air seeped out his drying lips, but none seemed to make its way back inside.

He faintly noticed movement to his side, and realized with a start is was Tom who had risen to face the professor.

"Professor Croft," he said in a velvety voice. "A word, if you don't mind."

"Yes, Mr Riddle?" she said in a calm, albeit a bit shaky, voice – clearly one of the teachers charmed by Tom's outwards persona and excellent study results.

The entire class had turned to look at them by now, Harry noticed through his blurry vision. Their collective movement made the air around him rumble, seeping out of cracks in the walls, which were still closing in on him while he sat watching in the middle of it all. He felt faint.

"I beg your pardon for asking, miss, however – I feel I can't let this matter rest. See, you, as all other teachers, have certain information about the students which would prevent these kinds of occurrences from happening. But, it seems you feel such facts might be ignored when, for a bigger purpose, handling matters in, and outside of, your classroom. Do you know of what I am speaking, miss?"

Professor Croft had gone a weird shade of bright pink, and looked to be a bit out of breath as she stood leaning heavily on her wooden cane. "I'm sorry, Mr Riddle, but I don't quite follow," she said hesitantly.

"I see," Tom said, laying a heavy hand onto Harry's right shoulder in support. Glancing up Harry saw mirth dancing in his deep eyes, like always in those instances when a teacher had asked him a particularly complex question that made the people around him frown like mad in incomprehension.

"Professor, I beg your forgiveness for this, but I feel it is my duty as Head Boy to make sure the students around me are treated at their best interests. And when I find they are ___not _treated at their best interests..." Harry swallowed deeply as one of Tom's long fingers wrapped itself around his firm tie knot, holding it up demonstratively. "... it is only proper I point it out. Either to the Professor herself, or otherwise, to the Headmaster."

Professor Croft looked faint and swayed a bit before she grabbed a firm hold of one of the desks with the wrinkled hand that was not holding the cane. "The Headmaster?" she whispered in wonder. "But why?"

"As a professor you have access to all students' health records," Tom continued in a steady voice, boring his eyes into the paling professor in front of him. "And you are informed if anything in particular is worth taking note of. As for example, certain phobias..."

The old lady snapped her eyes onto Harry's gasping and shivering form, suddenly coming to some kind of realization. She evidently ___had _heard of her student's claustrophobia, then, although she obviously hadn't thought about what that would mean in real life practice. "Oh," she breathed out, meeting Tom's gaze briefly before swishing her wand, making the tie knot loosen again.

Harry drew in a deep gulp of air, as if emerging from under deep water, as he watched his professor limp back to the front of the classroom in strained silence. The students around them were whispering quietly amongst themselves, not daring to ask what it had all been about.

Tom sat down again, as if nothing had happened, and Harry turned to face him, a serious expression on his pale face. "Thank you," he breathed out, silent enough for only them to hear. The other didn't even spare him a glance, although his entire being reeked of self-satisfaction and accomplishment.

Harry sighed quietly and turned back to look out the wet window, feeling his heart rate slow down finally. Another flock of black birds flew passed, calming him down completely in its simplicity.

He'd come to realize something:

There was no need to worry. Tom wouldn't turn into Voldemort.

There was just ___no _way someone who had stood up for him like that would turn into a cold blooded monster. He just couldn't.

Finally, Harry's lips stretched into a real smile, as he turned back to finish the essay waiting for him on the tabletop.

* * *

"D'you reckon it's a sort of cheese on a flaming stick?"

"No, it looks more like a hammer of some kind..."

"A barbecue cheese hammer?" Harry said in good humour, and the other two grinned widely at him. Alphard had been more than pleased to be asked to accompany him to the art club's first exhibition of the year, but Silas had been much more reluctant. He hadn't right out refused, like Alfred had, but he hadn't shown any sort of enthusiasm over it either.

Now, the three of them were standing in the middle of the long stage of the Gryffinclaw room, where the exhibition was being held. After Castor Ledford, or Leda as he was called, had graduated a witch named Samantha Holme had taken the position as leader for the art club. She, in her turn, had held the position for two years before she finished as well, and the post as leader had stood between Serena and Tom. Serena had won, to Tom's great chagrin, which was probably why he had become so determined to create his very own duelling club. Or, not so ___very much _his own as he had decided to share the leadership with his best friend. But still.

If things had been stiff between Serena and Tom before that – it became completely poisonous afterwards. They couldn't stand each other, and Harry clearly saw why: they were as different as night and day.

"Hey, aren't those Tom's paintings?" Alphard asked as they walked down the length of the stage. They had come upon a group of woesome depictions of skulls, snakes and tombstones. Harry instantly recognized the painting Tom had shown him on the Hogwarts Express, swallowing in discomfort as the Adder slid out of the staring sculls open mouth.

"Yeah," he confirmed in a rough voice and stepped closer to inspect the ones he hadn't already seen. They were good, Harry thought, really good. If Tom wanted to earn his living as an artist that wouldn't pose any sort of problem. But he knew that wasn't what his friend wanted for himself. He remembered Tom telling him how it would be ___convenient _if he could sell a few pieces. But he'd never aspired to become anything even resembling an artist.

He'd rather wanted to join the art club, not for the painting itself, but for the acknowledgement that came with it. It was the club in the entirety of Hogwarts, except for the Quidditch teams, that was the most difficult to gain membership of, Harry had learned with great surprise. Apparently, you had to take some sort of test did you want to join. That he and Tom had been so easily accepted had apparently been due to the twisted mind of Leda, and his tendency to collect people who inspired him to name them after ancient Greek or Roman deities. Not a tradition Holme or Serena had followed up on after his departure.

Lost in his own thoughts, Harry didn't realize they'd gotten company until an arm snaked itself around his shoulders casually. He startled slightly, but immediately relaxed as he realized it had only been Tom who had sneaked up on him.

"There you are, about bloody time too! We've been standing here admiring your work for ___ages_," he said with a teasing smile.

"If you count about three minutes as ages, I suppose," Silas filled in with a grin and patted Tom carefully, as though he might get bitten, on the shoulder. "They're good! I like them!"

"Me too!" Alphard assured from behind them. "They're very interesting."

"Oh yeah, definitely interesting," Harry said with a thoughtful nod. "If you like that sort of morbid, you're-all-gonna-die kinds of things, I guess they're very..." he made a thoughtful pause, as if searching for just that right word. "Goth" he decided, making the others frown at him as they didn't understand such a futuristic word.

Tom narrowed his eyes at him, as if trying to figure out if he'd been insulted or complimented, and Harry simply grinned at him in that certain mischievous way Harold had taught him. It made the other realize he was being made fun of, making him shove a sniggering Harry violently away from him, making a face as if disgusted.

"And that's what you get for trying to compliment someone," Harry said in a dramatic voice, touching his chest as if wounded, making Silas and Alphard laugh at him. Tom, on the other hand, crossed his arms over his chest, utterly unimpressed.

"Calm down, you great wuss, I was just kidding," Harry said, boxing the other lightly on the shoulder, gaining himself a smothering glare. "They're good – very well done. You've done a great job."

Tom visibly relaxed at the compliment and curled the corners of his mouth into a lazy smile, shaking his head slowly. "Well, ___thank you_," he said, some genuine mirth finally reaching his eyes. For a brief moment Harry mused over if Tom had actually been worried about his opinion. Then the thought vanished as someone came to stand to his right.

"Hullo," came the timid voice, like running water, from behind him. Serena's brown-green eyes came into view, shadowed by thick fans of copper eyelashes. She was still her calm, dreamy self and had grown into quite a beauty over the years. Harry really couldn't see why Tom didn't like her. Well, perhaps he could see why, but he couldn't ___understand _it.

"Hi Serena," he said, smiling brightly. Silas and Alphard greeted her too. Tom, however, let out a silently hissed cascade of insults under his breath, but Harry paid him no heed. He could rage by himself all he wanted.

"I thought Fred would be with you," Serena said, furrowing her brows in displeasure. "He didn't come?"

"Er, no actually," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck in discomfort. "Actually, he was very firm in his decision to stick to supporting you ___once _a year. You know, with him hating art in all forms and all... He came to the last one though, you remember?"

"Yeah," Serena said, her paint-stained fingertips scratching her forearms absently. "And he hated every single second of it," she said tonelessly, as it if was supposed to be a joke, but didn't quite come out right.

"Look, I'll talk to him, if you want me to," Harry began but was instantly interrupted by a paint-stained hand held up in a halting gesture.

"No, that's alright," Serena said, meeting his eyes with a soft smile. "I can take care of myself."

"I know," Harry said, returning her smile in silent understanding.

He didn't know the entirety of her living situation, but with her mother now dead in the war and with an all but doting father standing over her, of course she wanted some control over her own life could she get it. Fred was her cousin, and he really should show her more support in a time such as this, but it was family business and should be dealt with by family members only. She needed to fight her own battles.

"Do you mind?" Tom said in cold, held back fury from behind them. "We were in the middle of something."

"Oh, I beg your forgiveness, ___your highness_," Serena gasped out in dripping sarcasm, bowing deeply to her scowling club member. She took her leave, shaking her head in silent disbelief at the rude treatment. Harry couldn't quite believe it either.

"That was incredibly ___rude_," he said in an accusing voice, only gaining a response of raised eyebrows from the other, as if he was saying "So?" in the privacy of his mind. Harry sighed deeply at that. There apparently was no helping it – Tom would never be nice to Serena. It just wouldn't happen.

"Look, guys, we need to move, or we'll miss the sewing club meeting," Silas said from behind them, and Harry nodded at them as they took their leave, Alphard waving happily at them as he went.

"I need to go too," Harry said with a little sigh, "I'm holding the Quidditch try-outs in an hour. There are actually about 30 people who have signed up, can you believe it? ___Thirty_!"

"Sounds like it could take a while," Tom drawled out lazily in feigned disinterest.

"No rest for the wicked captain," Harry said with a wink and started making his way towards the end of the stage. "See you later," he said in passing, but was halted by a hand grasping his shoulder in a firm grip.

"Just one question," Tom said, studying his face closely to see the immediate reaction. "Would you let me paint you?"

"Paint me?" Harry said, frowning lightly. "You mean, as in a portrait?"

"Yes," the other said simply, the corner of his mouth twitching minutely.

"Why?" Harry said, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Things just weren't done for innocent reasons with Tom – they just weren't. There was always a bigger ploy behind things.

"Practice," Tom deadpanned, giving him one of his stiff, plastered on, winning smiles.

"Yeah, right..." Harry said, pushing the hand off of his shoulder and making to walk away again.

"... and, you know, it could be useful," Tom hurried to say before he could leave the stage completely. "I could make several portraits of you, connected, and they'd work in our favour. There would only be ___one _Harry, travelling between his many frames."

"You want to paint a portrait of me, spying on people?" Harry said in amused disbelief. He couldn't say he was surprised though. It was just like Tom to come up with something like this.

"If that's how you want to see it," the other said carefully, testing the waters.

Harry simply scoffed at him. "I decide where to put them, and we have a deal."

* * *

It was a cold, stormy autumn day, the 23rd of September. It had been raining for the last two weeks and it showed once one stepped their foot outside. You couldn't help but sink waist deep down into a mud-pool – something that no doubt made Harry's Quidditch try-outs ___very _interesting, but also ridiculously difficult. He was trembling in cold, covered in grime and rain once he finally re-entered the castle at 8 pm that evening.

At the end of the stairs he, to his great surprise, ran into a smug looking Tom.

"You look like death warmed over," he said with an evil leer, and Harry gave him a shaky smile.

"Feel like it too. You doing your prefect rounds?"

"Done," Tom said and crossed his arms over his chest. "Although I ought to do something about the tumbling troll walking around the main hall, leaving a track of Merlin knows what behind."

Harry looked behind him and, no surprise, found he'd managed to turn every inch of floor he'd touched into a grimy mess.

"Sorry," he said, flicking his wand while intoning "_S____courgify_" silently in his mind. The mud track promptly disappeared from sight, and he turned to smile superciliously back at his friend. The other raised his eyebrows challengingly at him.

"You forgot one thing," he said, and sighed when Harry only looked at him in incomprehension. He flicked his wand himself while calmly stating _"T____ergeo__",_ making sure to intone the charm out loud to make a point. Harry felt how his muddy body cleaned up slightly, but he was still cold to the bone.

"Thanks," he said, squaring his shoulders together, rubbing his arms with care to regain some warmth. "You fancy a bath? I was making it to the prefect's bathroom – it's quite nice, and since all club leaders can use it too, I was... You wanna join?"

"Alright," Tom said and accompanied him through the castle corridors. "Did the try-outs go well?"

"It was a mess," Harry confessed, making an ugly grimace at the mere thought of the nightmarish couple of hours he'd had to live through. "I could barely see where anyone was flying, it was raining so much. Got hit by a bludger ___three times_, and nearly collided with one of the guys who didn't perform that well. And they were ___so many_! 30 people! Seriously, come on! And none of them were that outstanding either – we'll have a troublesome year for Quidditch in Gryffindor, that's for sure."

He continued to rant on about more specific things that had gone wrong and players who'd been especially idiotic, as Tom merely listened in friendly amusement. They both cast involuntary glances to the stone bench besides Boris the Bewildered as they passed, both being reminded of the odd happenings in which Harry was flung out of Tom's little black diary all those years ago.

Then, they entered the bathroom itself, and Harry let out a sigh in relief. Thankfully, no one else had had the same idea they'd had to take an evening bath. He put the taps on, drawing in a deep breath of the sweet scent from the different kinds of bubble's emerging on the surface of the water bed, and turned around to get undressed.

Before he could even take one step away from the pool edge his head split open in pure agony.

He let out a pained whimper and slid to the ground, clutching his head with both hands, biting his under lip not to shout out.

Immediately, Tom was at his side.

"Harry, what's wrong? Is it the scar?"

The world seemed to start moving in slow motion, the edges blurry, no other sounds sounding in his ears apart from his own heavy breathing. Suddenly, without warning, the pain was gone and the world seemed to slow down even more, becoming fuzzy and light. As if gravity itself had fled.

He looked up to meet the eyes of his best friend, watching in cold indifference as Tom gasped loudly as he caught sight of something in his features. "Your eyes," the other croaked out in disbelief.

Before Harry could answer he was knocked to the ground by a sledgehammering force of pain hitting him right over the head. He didn't know what he was doing, crawling about, hissing out his pain in a tongue only known by snakes.

Then, the tiled ground below him started rumbling, shaking violently. He managed a glimpse to his left and saw, with biting fear in his stomach, how the pool-like tub had turned into a giant funnel, swirling down the bubbly bath water like a gluttonous mouth gulping down Butterbeer.

He could feel himself tilting over, the pain in his head making it hard to get a grip on reality as he fell and was sucked down the drain.

Above him he could hear desperate shouts, and the swooshing sound of another body following his own down the waterslide-like pipe.

It felt like he was falling for an eternity, never coming to a stop, bumping against the slim walls of the pipe. Somewhere deep down he knew he should be scared for his life, being rushed down into the unknown, being flung through a slim space with no escape. But the pain was too great and he could get a grasp on reality.

Suddenly, he came to a sharp bend, and managed to grip a hold of a metal bar sticking out seemingly at random at one side of the wall. He had just barely regained his breath when Tom came tumbling down, colliding with him painfully.

The other was gasping desperately for breath, whimpering in death panic. Obviously, his thanatophobia had settled in, making him delirious in fright for his life. Harry couldn't blame him.

Tom was clutching at him desperately, holding on like a persistent leech, or a sticky band-aid.

Then, a sudden rush of water hit them in their backs, and Tom was flung to the side, a weak hold of Harry's hand with his fingertips the only life-line preventing him from falling to his supposed death.

Harry saw it happen, as if in slow motion. Tom was looking at him in desperation, big beads of water sliding down his face in a way that told it could be nothing else but uncontrollable tears of fright.

Then, the fingertips slipped away and Tom's eyes rolled backwards as he promptly fainted, out cold as his body slid down the pipe and disappeared.

Harry cried out in frightened desperation and hurried after him, dead set on following his friend till the bitter end.

He slid down the drain and caught sight of one of Tom's arms as his body slid down a very, ___very _steep pipe. Harry plunged after him and let out an anguished scream as the air was pressed out of his lungs, and he fell down, down, down.

In his fall, he faintly heard a big ___splash _as Tom's body connected with water somewhere below.

He didn't get much time to think before he was spit out into a free fall, and then made connection with a deep, dark pool of water himself. He felt numb, desperate for air, but he swam downwards anyway, chasing after the slowly descending form of his best friend, still out cold under the deep water.

He finally got a grip on him, struggling badly with the extra weight. Just as he was about to faint himself from lack of oxygen he emerged from the depths and dragged in deep gulps of desperate breaths. He then swam purposefully towards the water edge and dragged Tom up onto the cold, stone floor of wherever they were.

He snatched out his wand and started waving it over Tom's body in careful circular motions. Confident he didn't seem to be dangerously injured, Harry intoned "_P____atet____ pulmones_", and cascades of water rushed out of Tom's mouth, like a great fountain. Confident the other was breathing properly, Harry cradled him close, shaking him carefully to make him come to.

He suddenly did so with a great jerk, dragging in desperate breaths of air while looking around wildly. Harry stroked his head slowly to make him calm down, and he did so, slowly regaining a normal rhythm of breath. He was still shaking though.

He suddenly started laughing, shakily, breathlessly, and Harry started worrying he'd gotten a blow to his head. Before he could find out for sure, Tom spoke in a raspy voice. "I guess we found it."

"Found what?" Harry asked carefully.

"The Chamber," Tom said with a wild gleam dancing in his eyes. "Look around you. We found the Chamber of Secrets!"

* * *

_A/N: Thank you so much for the continued support! For reviewing, for following, for favouring, for putting me into communities. It's just, ah, overwhelming! It's bloody fantastic! You guys are amazing! _

_Mischief managed! _


	4. The Crimson Soaking Through

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Four

_The Crimson Soaking Through_

* * *

The space around them was gigantic. If needed, a giant would most probably fit into the chamber, no problem, Harry mused as he looked around. The space reminded him of the skeleton of a church – with its high stone arches, pillars, and long walls leading up to an icon at the front. The icon of a church often portrayed a big cross with a lifeless Jesus Christ hanging from it, nails digging deep into his flesh.

The icon of the Chamber of Secrets was a giant, grim looking Salazar Slytherin statue.

The floor of the chamber was split into three sections. Along the walls ran deep pools of dark water, the edges towards the middle separated by pillars, entwined with carved serpents, stretching all the way up to the far away ceiling. The floor space in the middle, running from one short end of the room to the statue of Slytherin, was made out of dark stone – wet, cold stone.

The entire room was filled with dripping water. The sides of the walls were streaming with cascades of it, like lots and lots of little waterfalls, as if the walls would at any moment cave in from the pressure of the lake outside.

Because they were under the lake, Harry was sure.

They had been on the fifth floor when the tub in the prefects' bathroom had mysteriously turned into an enormous funnel. From there, the ride had gone downwards pretty consistently.

Looking up to the distant, shadowed ceiling – where stalactites hung in clusters – big, gaping pipe-ends could be seen. One of them from which Harry and Tom had been spat out into the dark abyss below. But there were more of them, several. And looking at the walls of the chamber, Harry could dimly see a few rounded entrances, possibly leading to even more pipe connections.

While he sat looking around, Tom moved from his horizontal position in his lap and arose to look around as well. Harry followed him slowly as he walked closer and closer to the grand statue of his ancestor.

"Salazar Slytherin," Tom breathed out in awe, taking the figure in with hungry eyes.

"Was that a curse or a statement?" Harry asked in a rough voice, shivering in his wet clothes.

"It's magnificent," the other continued, ignoring him completely as he walked closer still to inspect the very stone from which the statue was made out of. Harry stood still, looking around in weary apprehension. There was one certain question that wouldn't leave his overloaded brain alone:

Where was the way out?

They had been spat out of a great big pipe all the way up in the ceiling. All around them were entrances to even more pipes. But all that pipes did was leading things downwards – one couldn't climb them, it just wasn't possible – even with magic.

Things travelled ___down _pipes, thanks to gravity, only fluid could travel ___up _them, with the help of some air-pressure or heat. You couldn't climb a pipe. Unless you had a huge, long body completely made out of muscles, that was. Harry was quite positive he didn't.

So how would they get out of the chamber? Where was the exit?

"Hey Tom," he said, poking the other's shoulder when he got no answer. "We should find a way out of here."

"Not now, Harry, just give me a moment," Tom said distractedly, hands roving all over the stone surface of Slytherin and the wall.

"Why, what are you doing?" Harry asked impatiently, pulling at his collar distractedly. Tom flicked a persistent lock of hair out of his face and turned to face him, his eyes gleaming with greed.

"We're in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry. Now, I ___know _there is supposed to be some sort of monster here somewhere. But also – there must be a ___reason _why it's called what it's called. Unless the monster in itself is the secret – which would be outrageously boring, but see, I think..." Tom halted himself mid-speech to take a better look at Harry's shivering form. "What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

Harry smiled shakily but shook his head in the negative. He'd been tossed through a rough pipe and been spat down into a dark abyss. Despite this, he'd managed to get out of it all limbs intact, albeit a tad bit sore. "I'm alright, a bit cold though. After a cold and wet Quidditch practice a cold and wet adventure wasn't exactly what I had in mind..."

Tom muttered something under his breath, swishing his wand in soft, flowing motions, and Harry felt how his clothing became dry, warm and snugly. "Thank you," he whispered, but the other paid him no heed, busy spelling his own clothes dry and warm.

"Hey Tom," he said again, making his friend turn to scowl at him. "It's just – we need to find a way out of here... there ___has _to be a way out, doesn't it?"

"We just managed to find the Chamber of Secrets, after five long years of searching for it. And now, all you want is to get ___out _of it?"

"I just need to know there ___is _a way out, that's all!" Harry exclaimed, feeling rage starting to build up as his scar started pounding uncomfortably. "We can't get out through the pipes, after all..."

"Oh no," Tom grit out furiously, clenching his teeth together so hard Harry feared they would crack from the pressure. "Not again! It's your claustrophobia again, isn't it? Calm the bloody hell down! You're not in danger!"

"You don't ___know that_!" Harry screeched in outrage, stretching his back out to stand tall in defiance. "And I fucking ___am _calm! I'm not the one whose phobia made him ___faint _on his way down here! I'm not the one who passed out and ___could have died _if ___someone __hadn't been_ there to save him!"

"I could ___not _have died!" Tom hissed back at him in ice cold fury, and Harry saw it. The slight tremble. The involuntary twitch of the left eye. The way his hands were clenching till the knuckles turned sickly white.

Tom wasn't ignorant. He ___knew _he'd been within an inch of certain death. If Harry hadn't swum down into the pool to save him, he would have drowned.

The blatant, inescapable fear the thanatophobia force-fed him – he would break down into hysteria if he didn't distract himself. And that was what he was doing. Distracting himself. He didn't only ___want _to explore the chamber to try and solve the mystery: he ___needed _to.

Knowing this, Harry drew in a deep breath, forcing the white hot anger away. He couldn't push Tom right now. Not like this.

"Alright, how about this," he said in a toneless voice. "We find a way out of here, and then, we can use it to come back here another time. A time that we choose. How's that?"

Tom just stood looking at him for a couple of heartbeats before sighing deeply, moving towards him. Harry then found himself embraced – Tom carding his fingers through his hair in a way that was both soothing and pleasantly tingly. "You don't have to worry, we're not trapped, I'm sure of it. There's no way Salazar Slytherin meant for his heirs to find the chamber this way. There must be some clever passage we haven't found yet. But we'll find it, the other end of it. It must be here somewhere."

Harry leaned into the hug, feeling the stress and anxiety diminish with every slowing breath he took. "Yeah, let's start looking," he said and was just about to pull away when he glimpsed something over Tom's shoulder. "Or maybe ___stop _looking," he said and walked closer to it.

It was a sort of engraving into the stone floor, right in front of the great statue, on the exact spot where Tom had previously been standing. He crouched down in front of it, inspecting closer. Tom soon joined him. What they saw was a carved in sentence, written with ancient runes. And beneath it, a symbol of sorts. It looked like an odd version of an 8. But instead of having one circle on top of the other, the symbol was lying down. It looked more like two zeros standing next to each other, pressed close together.

"Speak to Slytherin, greatest of the four schools?" Harry said in a mystified voice.

"Speak to ___me _Slytherin," Tom corrected him, frowning down at the script in front of them. "But the last part is far more complex... That rune – it usually stands for education, knowledge or, as you said, school. But I think it is referring to Hogwarts in itself, this time. You see, then it becomes 'greatest of the Hogwarts four' instead."

"Of course, it's referring to the founders," Harry breathed out, frowning slightly. "What about that last one, I don't recognize it."

"Me neither. I don't think it's a rune at all, but a symbol," Tom explained, tracing the shape of the ovals with the tip of his index finger. On its base, the Gaunt ring glistened secretively as it was caught in the murky, greenish light surrounding them.

"A symbol of what?" Harry asked, but only got a distracted ___hmm _sound in response. He repeated the question as Tom arose to his feet, standing back to look up at the face of his great ancestor.

"I'm not sure," he said, "I'm having a thought... I want to try something. You might want to come stand behind me."

Harry complied, although a bit weary, looking with deep mistrust at his best friend. "What are you thinking?" he asked, bracing himself for the answer. You never knew in what directions Tom's thoughts would stray...

"It says 'speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four', doesn't it. I'm thinking, it might be meant literally. Partly, that it should be said in Parseltongue. ___And_, that whatever monster the chamber holds, will come out of there." He was pointing straight at Salazar Slytherin's face, and Harry immediately understood what he meant. The creature would most likely emerge from out of the very ___mouth _of the statue. Slytherin would, quite literally indeed, speak to them.

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered under his breath, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to ready himself. He didn't get much time before Tom pronounced the quote in the snake language, and the entire chamber began to rumble.

There was a scraping sound coming from above them. Harry quickly opened his eyes, spotting a huge scaled body slipping down the statue's stone chest, before Tom snapped for him to close them again. "It's a basilisk!" he hissed hurriedly. "Don't look into its eyes!"

"I know what a freaking basilisk is, Tom," Harry snapped irritatedly, and then caught his breath as the monster in front of them – although he couldn't tell for sure exactly how close – let out a fearsome hiss that inspired terrible fright into the very waters around them, it seemed.

"King of Serpents," Tom hissed in a clear, commanding voice, and the fearsome hissing stopped as the basilisk recognized its own language being spoken. "We, the heirs of Slytherin, greet you, humbled by your greatness."

The basilisk let out a soft, approving hiss and coiled itself together comfortably, at least that was what it sounded like. Tom confirmed Harry's suspicion that it was alright to look as he jabbed him in the side with his elbow and told him it was safe to open his eyes, as long as he didn't look directly at the basilisk's eyes.

In front of them, approximately 300 feet away, lay an enormous snake with glistening green scales, coiled together snugly. It quite obviously did not feel threatened, nor bothered, by their presence.

"It's just lying there," Harry pointed out, getting a pointed look from Tom that clearly stated he thought him obnoxious for stating the obvious. "I mean," he continued, "shouldn't it be up and about, cursing Muggleborns or something?"

"It's waiting for a command, you moron!" Tom snapped, shooting him an annoyed glance. "As I previously stated, the basilisk is ___not _the secret of the chamber – there has to be something else, something far more valuable. Its purpose is to guard the secret, most likely. Of course, it is possible Slytherin intended for it to do his work in cleansing the school of Mud-bloods, but if that was the case it doesn't make sense for him to lock it in here to wait for his heirs, when it could have continued his work perfectly well without him. Once it has a direct order, it follows it until the deed is done."

"And now, it's waiting for an order?"

"Yes," Tom said, smirking slightly. "It is most certainly still guarding the secret, but it is also ready for whatever command we give it. It is also possible its function is that of a guide for us, so that we can find the secret."

"I think it would be better if it could guide us ___out _of here," Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. He was sore, tired and cold. And the oppressive air around them gradually became heavier and heavier to breath.

"In time," Tom said and took one big step towards the basilisk, that arose its big head in attention. "Great serpent, where lies the secret of Slytherin?"

"Within the Chamber of Secretsss," it hissed in a rough, ice cold voice that spoke of great wisdom and even greater age. It had to be over 900 years old, Harry mused in the privacy of his mind.

"And how do we find it?" Tom probed in a commanding tone of voice. The basilisk twitched its tail lazily towards the inscription in the floor.

"With the key, little human," it stated, opening up its great jaw, showing off sharp fangs glistening with its deadly venom, in a huge yawn.

"The key?" Tom asked in incomprehension. "There is a key, and it goes there, into that symbol at the bottom? And that unlocks the secret?"

The basilisk hissed out a bored sounding "Yesss" and Tom looked at Harry in excitement.

"Where do we find the key?"

"Master carried the key around hisss neck. He intended for the key to be passed down in hisss lineage, from parent to child, so that hisss heirs would already have it when they found their way here."

Tom and Harry looked at each other in understanding. The shape of that symbol – like two identical oval shapes connected to each other. It was the shape of Slytherin's famous locket, if opened up and laid flat onto the ground. It was the family heirloom that had disappeared when Merope Gaunt fled Little Hangleton to get married to Tom Riddle Sr.

The locket was the key that would unlock the secret of Slytherin's chamber!

"We have to find it," Tom said in a dark voice, and Harry nodded twitchily in agreement.

"Yes, but first, we need to get ___out of here_!"

"Agreed," Tom said and turned back to the lazy serpent in front of them. "Lead us out of the chamber."

"I cannot," the basilisk deadpanned, flicking its red tongue out to taste the air.

"What do you ___mean _you can't?" Harry exclaimed in wild panic, taking a careless step forwards, remembering in the last moment not to look the snake in its deadly eyes.

"I can only travel through the pipesss and tunnelsss, little human, and through thossse you cannot follow."

"But there ___has to be _a way out of here!" Harry cried out. He felt Tom come standing very close to him in support, but not laying a hand on him because he knew the feeling would only make him feel restricted. Held back. And it would only serve to worsen his claustrophobia symptoms while riled up like this.

"There are many waysss out of the chamber, little human, many pipesss and hidden passagesss. There are openingsss I can get through on every floor in the castle body. In the bathroomsss, in the kitchensss... But thossse are not to be used by humansss. Master created another way for them, through which I cannot lead you."

"But you know where it is?" Harry said with great relief, the edges around his vision becoming slightly less blurred, his breathing calming down along with the loud booming of his heart.

The basilisk nodded wisely, raising its head high in the air to look at something at the other end of the chamber. "Over there," it hissed and sunk back down to rest its head against its thick coils.

Harry wasted no time, but immediately sped along the long midsection of the chamber and soon found himself in front of a solid wall, decorated with two entwined, carved snakes with emeralds for eyes. They made the stone creatures look strangely alive.

"What am I supposed to do?" Harry asked impatiently, annoyed at being stopped this close to his goal. Tom came to stand beside him, having walked over to the wall in a much calmer pace.

"I can guess," he said and hissed out a low "open" to the wall. The snakes parted from each other, slithering away and out of sight as if they'd sunken into the very stone behind them. Then, the wall cracked open to reveal a dark, narrow tunnel.

"How did you know?" Harry asked in a rough voice as they stepped through the opening and the wall behind them slid back together with a hollow crack. The two wizards lit their wands to have a look around.

"That was what you said, before in the bathroom, when the-"

"So ___that's _what I said?" Harry interrupted him hurriedly, impatient to find out what had actually happened for them to be slung down a water filled pipe. "And then the tub turned into that funnel?"

"Yes," Tom said slowly, evidently picking out his words before he spoke them. "And no. You were delirious, twisting about in pain, screaming, hissing nonsense. And then, suddenly, that word came out of your mouth... and the voice... it didn't sound like you, somehow. And, there's something else..."

"What else?" Harry asked, bracing himself for the worst, hoping desperately that whatever Tom told him would help him find out what was wrong with him. Of what nature his disease was. Why his scar hurt so much and why he was so angry all the time.

"Your eyes turned red," Tom stated clearly in a certain voice, leaving no room for doubt. Harry swallowed uneasily.

"The irises or... or did they become blood-shot?" He really didn't need to ask, he already knew and dreaded the answer.

"The irises," the other claimed and Harry nodded dully, already having a suspicion about what that meant. "How did that happen?" Tom continued to probe. "Your eyes are green, so their natural change in colour would be red... although I'd imagined they'd turn dark rather than that light shade of crimson they became... What did you do to acquire such power? Is it the scar?"

"I don't know," Harry said distractedly and Tom opened his mouth to press him further, but he was halted with a raised hand before his face. "Could we please have this conversation later? I really want to get out of here."

"Alright," his broody looking friend said with a sigh, and turned to the crossroads in front of them. There were two identical tunnels, one leading to their right, the other to their left. "You try the other one," Tom ordered and walked without hesitation into the right tunnel.

Harry only had time to briefly brace himself and take a few steps into his own before his friend called out to him. Walking into the right tunnel instead, he soon came upon a dead end, Tom standing in front of something, holding a pot of sand in his hands, shaking with laughter.

"Whatsit?" Harry asked, once again wondering if the other had taken a hit to the head. Then, he saw what was in front of them.

"No way," he breathed out. "No bloody ___way_!"

It was a fireplace.

Salazar Slytherin had intended for his heirs to fucking ___floo _into the Chamber of Secrets.

How bloody ironic! All this time, with them searching through every cranny in the entire castle in search for the chamber, and they could have simply flooed into it, all this time.

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed as well. It was just too much. Too simple.

"Well, I guess we don't have to throw ourselves down a water pipe next time," he said after minutes of laughter, drying tears that had leaked out of the corners of his eyes. "Aren't you gonna go?" he asked then, when he saw Tom wasn't doing anything with the pot of floo powder in his hands.

"I'm just thinking of where we should go, what fireplace we should floo to," he said calmly, but still with a voice tinted with merriment.

"What's wrong with our common rooms?" Harry asked. "It's late after all, we can't show up just anywhere, we'd get detention."

"What, are you stupid?" Tom exclaimed, shaking his head patronizingly. "We can't just show up out of the blue in our ___common rooms_. What is it, ten o'clock in the evening? Eleven? There will be loads of people there; they can't see us using the floo network inside of school. That shouldn't be possible! They'll start asking questions."

"Oh," Harry said, he hadn't thought of that, too excited to get out of the chamber to think one step further. "What about the Slytherdor room then? There's usually not many there. And we could make a fire call first, to have a look."

"Alright," Tom said with a smile that looked... well, almost proud.

Harry stepped forwards, grabbing a hand of floo powder out of the pot and was just about to throw it into the hearth when Tom stopped him with a firm grip around his wrist.

"The thing hasn't been used for over 900 years, you imbecile. It needs to be cleaned first."

"Good thinking," Harry said, looking expectantly at the other, who just looked back at him. "Well, go ahead then," he exclaimed after a few moments of silence. "I don't know any cleaning charms for chimneys. You're the neat freak, you should be able to do it."

Tom narrowed his eyes at him at the jibe, but waved his wand nonetheless, raising his eyebrows at Harry once he was done.

"That's it?" the Gryffindor exclaimed in mistrust. "The chimney hasn't been cleaned in 900 years, and you only use ___one _spell on it?"

"If you don't want to get out of here, use the pipes. I'm sure the basilisk is wrong and you will find something..."

"Fine," Harry muttered and bent down in front of the hearth to make a fire call to the Slytherdor room. "D'you reckon I need to use parseltongue for it to work?"

"Yes," Tom uttered in an irritated hiss, clearly thinking him uncanny for asking in the first place.

Harry just shrugged his shoulders, threw in the floo powder, stuck his head into the green flames and hissed his destination. A nauseating ride later, and a quick scan of the empty room he'd arrived to, he pulled his head back out and found himself back in the depressingly dark tunnels beneath the castle.

"It's clear," he stated, stood up and threw a new batch of floo powder into the fireplace.

Once he emerged into the Slytherdor room, he sank down into one of the black leather sofas and closed his eyes against the extreme tiredness that sank its claws into him. Tom soon appeared in a rush of green flames and sat down next to him, looking just as tired as Harry felt...

* * *

Harry suddenly startled awake in his seated position.

He'd fallen asleep! Right where he sat!

"Brilliant," he muttered in a rough voice and stretched his back out, wincing when his spine made a few cracking sounds as if in protest.

He felt sore all over, which didn't come as a surprise. He'd been through a lot last night. First the outrageously long Quidditch try-outs, then the funny little adventure down rock hard, steep pipes, ending up in ice cold water. And then, he'd fallen asleep in a sitting position on top of it all. He suspected he wouldn't be able to move at all until somebody handed him a Pepper Up Potion, or perhaps, a Chocolate Frog.

Blinking away the rest of the sleepiness, Harry felt a weight in his lap, and looked down to see Tom's head resting there – his body spread out on its side over the entire right part of the sofa. He was still sleeping, breathing calmly, letting out occasional puffs of air that warmed a spot on Harry's leg right beneath his mouth. After closer inspection, Harry sniggered as he noticed there was a little wet spot there as well, indicating the ___oh so great _Tom was actually capable of drooling in his sleep.

He noticed his friend's black locks of hair had curled themselves into a rowdy mess – surely a courtesy of the sewage they'd swum in the night before – and had fallen down to hide Tom's face from view.

Unable to help himself, Harry started carding his right hand fingers carefully through the hair, pulling it back so that he could see the peaceful expression beneath. The calm look on Tom's face made him smile softly, unable to tear his eyes away. After a couple of heartbeats he realized his hand had moved on its own and was now stroking the side of the other's face gently, feeling the texture of the soft skin that turned rougher as the hand came closer to the chin.

Once realizing what he was doing, he stopped, terrified Tom would wake up and catch him red handed.

He had barely managed to snatch the hand away when there was movement in his lap and a pair of dark green eyes peeked up from beneath raven black eyelashes. Immediately, they closed again and the face scrunched up into an ugly, certainly not peaceful, grimace.

Tom then let out a furious hiss of displeasure, turning to lay on his back instead, clutching his head with clawing hands.

"Headache?" Harry murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement when he realized that was exactly what Tom used to ask him whenever his scar started acting up.

"No, I believe simply ___ache _should suffice this time," Tom grit out through clenched teeth and Harry fought away another soft smile.

"Can you stand?" he asked instead, planning on dragging his friend to the hospital wing so that they could get some much needed healing.

"Just give me a moment," Tom muttered and Harry had to grab hold of the sofa backrest to ___keep _his hand from starting to stroke the side of the other's face again.

"I can't believe we survived that," he murmured to himself after a few moments of silence, and Tom's eyes snapped open to glare up at him.

"We were not in immediate danger," he stated in a clear, commanding voice, as if if he could sound convincing enough, it would become the truth.

Harry swallowed against the guilt that engulfed him for bringing the subject up, when he knew Tom couldn't handle the thought of his mortality. He looked away, letting his eyes stray to the roof of the room, watching as the famous witches and wizards started waking up and moving towards the great table in the middle of the painting to have breakfast.

"Sorry," he whispered, feeling Tom's eyes on him all the while as the seconds ticked by. Then, there was movement and Harry found his right hand grasped in a firm grip, something small and rock hard placed in it. Looking down, he saw Tom had taken off his family ring to place it into his up-turned palm.

"What are you doing?" Harry questioned in a voice that was less sharp than he had intended for it to be.

"I want you to have it," Tom said simply, the corner of his mouth twitching in a way Harry knew meant pleasure. Sincerity.

Despite knowing his friend was being serious, Harry didn't want to accept the offering. "No Tom, I can't! It's yours, it's your family heirloom."

"I will have another one soon enough," Tom stated in a calm voice, "when we find Slytherin's locket. And besides, it's just as much yours as it is mine."

"It's not!" Harry insisted, a prickling ache starting to build up in his head right beneath the curse scar. "I've told you, over and over: I am ___not _your grandson – we are ___not _related!"

"We are," Tom insisted, and glared warningly as Harry opened his mouth to start protesting again. "It must be true, because it explains a lot. I have thought it over, for years Harry, and there is no other explanation as to why you came to be in this time."

"You've got an explanation?" He couldn't help but be intrigued by the prospect of finally having a theory to the mystery that had plagued his mind for years on end.

Tom put an enormous effort into struggling into a sitting position, hissing angrily as his sore body protested. Harry grabbed hold of his shoulders, directing the body into the right direction, and his friend was finally sitting up properly next to him. His lap felt strangely cold.

"I believe it is a matter of powerful blood magic that made it possible for you to sink into the diary and fly through time," Tom started, staring into the cold fireplace in front of them as he spoke. "I don't know what I did to it, but it must have been some sort of blood magic, I'm certain of that.

"Do you remember we wrote on the exact same date, the exact same time, at the same age?"

"Not the ___exact _same age, though," Harry pointed out. "You're exactly half a year older than me."

"I don't think that is of importance," Tom drawled out lazily, making the Gryffindor at his side let out a disbelieving snort.

"___Or_, you are ignoring the fact because it suits you."

"Would you shut up and let me finish?" Tom snapped, the corner of his mouth twitching downwards, warning Harry his friend was moments away from exploding in anger. "I believe that the fact that we were sitting at the exact same spot, at the same age, the same time, date, holding the same diary, ___and _sharing the same blood – the time line got confused."

"The time line can't get confused," Harry groaned, "it's an abstract ___object_. Not a living being."

"Is that a fact?" Tom hissed, his eyes narrowing into slits, his jaw setting against the anger at not being taken seriously.

Not wanting to end up in a spat, Harry held back his sour reply and took a deep breath instead. He kept telling himself Tom had been through a lot and didn't need to be pushed further right now. Not if he didn't want to end up at the wrong end of the other's wand, that was. And Harry clearly felt his body probably wouldn't be able to handle much more pain before be turned into a bloody pile on the carpet.

They sat in tense silence for a few very long minutes, both holding back sour comments for the benefit of the other. Finally, Harry wordlessly held the Gaunt ring up for Tom to take back. But the other just looked at him in a way that clearly said that wouldn't happen.

So Harry sighed deeply and retraced his hand to sit looking at the black stone ring for a couple of more minutes. Then, he slipped it onto his right handed index finger, where he knew Tom had worn it, and looked up at the other.

"Let's go get ourselves patched up."

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for the wonderful reviews I've received in the last couple of days. I'm so thankful for your support and praise. _

_In case you've missed it – I recently posted an extra chapter to the prequel, called __**My December**__. It's about Tom's childhood, and isn't in any way necessary to read to understand the story as a whole. It is a simple one-shot that has bothered me for quite a while and needed to be written out. _

_Until next time!_

_Mischief managed! _


	5. I Watched You

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Five

_I Watched You_

* * *

Harry sped along the stonewalled corridors of Hogwarts castle, sneaking occasional peeks at his leather strap wrist watch, noting with resignation he was almost half an hour late.

Once he came up to the third floor he saw a group of sixth year Slytherins standing there, waiting for their Charms class to start. The majority of them waved at him and greeted him in friendly voices. He nodded to them as a whole and sped along, bracing himself for getting a good trashing once arriving at his appointed meeting.

Before he could make it too far, his steps faltered as his eyes met a pair of steady, deep black ones.

"Hi Eileen," he said, his voice breaking to his great embarrassment.

Druella Rosier, and two other girls Harry didn't know the names of, giggled at him, but Eileen only smiled softly. Her long, hollow cheeks seemed to puff up, acquiring a rosy pink colour, taking a lot of the usual sharpness of her complexion away. She still had her ash blonde hair cut short, into a small bob with a wavy fringe, that made her long face and sharp nose stand out stunningly. Harry truly found her beautiful.

"Hello Harry," Eileen said in her low, melodious voice. "You seem to be in a hurry."

"Yeah..." he said lamely, legs itching to continue down the corridor while his head was busy arguing with itself.

Should he ask her now? When would he next see her? Should he wait till he had more time? What if she said no, right in front of everyone?

"I... I need to go..." he said, frowning at his own poor speaking skills. He was just so nervous around her – afraid something would go wrong. Terrified she wouldn't agree, thus ruining his plans.

"Then you should go," Eileen said evenly, still with a kind smile on her face. Harry desperately wondered why he couldn't stay calm when she obviously could.

"Right, yeah..." he said, taking little steps away, giving a short wave that he instantly regretted. "See you later!"

He hurried away from the group of sixth years with a nagging feeling in his stomach he'd made a complete fool out of himself.

He came to a halt once he reached the dead end he'd been searching for. His hand immediately went for the wall, and it turned one of the candle holders like it would a door handle. He then watched the opposite wall as it turned completely transparent and then proceeded to walk through it.

Once inside he came face to face with his furious best friend.

"How _dare you_ be this late?" Tom said in a dangerous tone and Harry gave him a shaky smile full of regret.

"I was in the library," he confessed solemnly, staring at the pink painted wall behind his friend's left ear, refusing to meet the other's narrowed eyes. "Forgot the time."

"Forgot the time, doing _what_ exactly?" the other snapped out suspiciously, even though he already knew Harry often forgot the time and was late for things.

"Well, we _do_ have homework, you half-wit. My Transfigurations work has been a right out mess lately, and on top of that Professor Ogden will want a complete memo for my thesis by next week – and I have barely even started yet."

"Yes, that is all very well, but you keep neglecting our appointments, Harry, and I tire of chasing you around."

"You don't _need to _chase me around," Harry contradicted in an acid tone, "you do it just because you _want to_ – AND, against my will!"

Ignoring his exasperation, Tom continued as if he hadn't said anything at all. "And you _still _haven't come up with a passable subject of study? What, if there was _someone_ I believed to have an easy time of it I'd thought it'd be you! You have had your mind set on a career as a Healer ever since our forth year at Hogwarts. Just how rattle-brained _are_ you?"

"Oh come off it!" Harry snarled at him, shrugging off his book bag and throwing it carelessly into a plush green sofa he knew to be somewhere to his left. He cringed as it missed its target and made an awful racket as its contents fell out all over the floor. "You had just as much trouble with picking a subject as I had, so don't go all high and mighty on me. And, for your consideration, I _have _chosen a proper subject – it's defining the aim of the thesis that poses the biggest problem at the moment. So forgive me for being a couple of minutes late."

"34 minutes."

"Alright, so about half an hour, then."

"Sloppy," Tom stated in an ice cold voice and turned around to walk back to his busy working table. A cluster of paint bottles and lots of paint brushes in varying size was littering it – a canvas hovering mid-air over the carefully organized mess.

Suddenly, Harry hissed in pain as something around his wrist started to burn painfully. He tore his sleeve away and immediately noticed his wristwatch was shining bright orange as a result of intensive heat. He hurriedly ripped it off of him and saw with a grimace it had left a nasty burn deep into his skin.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have bothered to show up at all if that's how you're going to treat me," he growled out, waving his wand carefully over the blacking burn that slowly faded out of existence. Left was thin, pale skin that stung in pain still.

"Don't be silly," Tom said in a cheerful voice, smiling back at him over the shoulder. "You wouldn't want to miss this!"

"Yeah right," Harry muttered, but swallowed his anger and came to stand next to his friend, who was sitting like a king on his stool, waiting for him. "Where do you want me?" Harry proceeded to ask in a broody tone, and Tom smirked evilly at him.

"Over there," he said, indicating with a twitch of his head where he meant and Harry silently complied. "Now," Tom drawled in a silky tone, "stand still."

* * *

"That was payback, wasn't it..."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

They were headed towards their weekly club meeting for The Severers, which was being held in their very own club room, located in the east wing on the sixth floor.

The room was hidden behind a painting, portraying a medieval witch standing in a doorway, looking out at something happening outside of the dark walls of the cottage. She never said anything, but Harry suspected the woman was standing watching witch burnings, since there was a faint flicker of fire going on in one of the darkened windows. Around her feet ran countless cats, meowing loudly, scratching at the wooden furniture. Harry had also once seen a wizard entering the frame, looking out the window wearily, carrying an infant in his robe covered arms.

To get into the club room for The Severers you had to pick out one of the many cats and stroke its back until it started purring. Then, the painting would swing inwards, letting you into the circular space behind.

"You made me stand there for over four hours."

"Completing a painting takes a lot of time..."

Harry narrowed his eyes dangerously while Tom twisted his expression into one of his most angelic smiles.

They walked up the moving staircases side by side and had to make giant leap as the steps suddenly started moving just as they moved from one platform to another.

"I've seen you paint portraits before, in less than three hours!" Harry snapped a tad bit breathlessly as he regained his balance, making sure his black school robes hadn't gotten stuck to anything that would suddenly whisk him away.

"I put a lot of work into this one," Tom claimed in a self-assured tone of voice, dusting invisible lint off of his robes before he started walking again, turning right and into the sixth floor corridor. Harry followed him in a brisk pace, soon coming close enough to walk side by side again.

"It _was_ payback, wasn't it?" Tom didn't answer but only twisted his wide smile into a mirthful smirk and Harry held back an angry snarl inspired by the sudden burn that erupted in his scar. "And you didn't find it necessary we had something to _eat_ today, no?"

"We can eat after the meeting."

"Well, dinner's over, _Tommy_!"

"_Don't call me that_ !" Tom snarled back at him, reaching out a hand to pet one of the cats that was on its merry way out of the frame. "And stop with the dramatics – you can go have as much food in the Gryffinpuff room as you want."

"What about you?" Harry asked coldly as he followed the other through the secret passage and into their bare, circular club room. Outside the high, narrow windows powdery snow had started to fall. "You don't belong to neither Gryffindor nor Hufflepuff – how do you expect to get anything to eat? We end this meeting just before curfew."

"Oh, dear me," Tom said in a sweet tone, blinking innocently at him. "Were you under the impression somebody would fault the _Head Boy_ for walking the corridors after curfew? Either your minimal brain has decided to escape after the amount of studying you must have done today – _or_, you were born this witless from the start."

"Would you stop bloody patronizing me?"

"No."

"You fucking ass!"

"Jobbernowl!"

"Freak-shit!"

"Ignoramus!"

"Demonic bastard!"

"Why is it I always catch the two of you fighting?" came a toneless drawl from behind them, and they both whipped around to catch sight of their star club member – Dido Burke.

The dark, thickset girl simply smirked superciliously at them, and waltzed over to the other end of the room to wait for the meeting to start. Behind her the other club members welled in one by one, smiling and nodding to the leaders once they caught sight of them.

"Hairy oaf!" Tom hissed out barely audibly before he hurried off to greet some of the new arrivals, a wide grin plastered onto his face. Harry threw a poisonous look at his back and retreated to the other end of the room, coming to stand next to Dido, who was still smirking knowingly at him.

"He just has to have the last word, doesn't he? Hairy oaf, my foot!"

"You've really been on edge, lately," the other observed in a lazy drawl, studying him closely with her coal black eyes. "What's bugging you?"

"Question's rather what's _not _bugging me, lately," Harry claimed tiredly, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself. "There's just so much going on – with the war, and the clubs, preparing for the N.E.W.T.s, writing my thesis, trying to find out what's bloody _wrong_ with me... And this new project Tom and I have going on... It just takes so much energy, it's irritating me. And Tom won't fucking bugger off either."

"What new project?" Dido asked with a crocked smirk, obviously not feeling any kind of sympathy for what he was currently going through. And, Harry thought resignedly, she probably had just as much to do as he did at the moment, but was decent enough not to complain about it.

"Well, you see there's this artefact we need to find. A locket that belonged to Tom's family and ancestors. And all we know is that his mother once took it to London and then somehow got rid of it before her death. Or, perhaps somebody stole it after... There's no way to tell, really. But Tom's insistent on going back to his old home and ask his old caretakers what happened to it... Well, I guess you know as well as I do he won't be _asking_ very kindly... And at the moment I find myself quite desperate to come up with something stopping him from going altogether, or I fear he'll do something _bad_, you know? And he can't do that, for more reasons than you think. And it has to happen soon, otherwise he'll make way over there the next Hogsmeade weekend trip."

"And what is this mysterious artefact you're after?" Dido asked slowly, eyes sparkling with interest. That was when Harry remembered her grandfather, Caractacus Burke, worked in a shop selling dark magic artefacts, called _Borgin and Burke's_, and that she oft-times worked there as a shop keeper in the summers together with her two older brothers, Ascanius and Achates.

"Well, I guess you must have heard of it," he said, wondering if perhaps she could help them in their search. Had the answer to his weeks of lamentation been this simple all along? "It's Salazar Slytherin's locket."

Dido studied him in silence for a few tense seconds, in that certain way that only she could, managing to make Harry feel he needed to apologize for something, even though he hadn't done anything wrong.

"I've seen it," she said, breaking the uncomfortable silence with ease, as if she hadn't noticed it at all. "My grandfather bought it really cheap from a ragged, skimpy witch in the 20's. She looked fearsome, he's told me, her eyes staring both ways, standing out of their sockets. Didn't even notice she practically gave the locket away. Must have been quite desperate, that one. I remember Grandpa Caractacus was always bragging about what a good bargain he'd made. Kept the locket close to himself, hidden under heavy wards, not on display in the shop like most other stuff."

Harry felt a chill creep up his spine. That might have been Tom's mother, right there, trying to get some money in a futile attempt at surviving. And Dido's grandfather had not only practically stolen the locket from her, he'd found great pride in the feat as well.

"So he'll be hard pressed to give it to us then?" Harry asked wearily, feeling uncomfortable about the whole matter, feeling he should disapprove with what had been done against poor Merope Gaunt. But at the same time, he felt he could in no way fault Dido for any of it, although her grandfather had more or less made sure that the penniless witch had died out of poverty.

Dido didn't seem to care in the least about the severity of the situation, but only smirked at him, crossing her arms over her chest in an offhanded manner. "No, he won't," she drawled. "He won't be hard pressed at all. It's sold already. About three years ago, to a Mrs Smith. Hepzibah, I believe... I remember I thought her name funny. Dead ugly, she was. And filthy rich, apparently."

So the locket was sold, Harry thought, feeling deep relief he now knew where to find it. Knowing he wouldn't have to hold Tom back from going pressing the people at the orphanage for information – an activity that would, no doubt about it, lead to less questioning and more torture.

Harry was under the impression Tom could not, under any circumstances, commit murder – neither in offence nor defence. If he started killing, if he got a taste of it, he would spiral down a dark path towards that person that he could not become. The one thing that separated him from Lord Voldemort, that hung like a security net between who he was and who he could become, was that he was not a murderer. He liked hurting people, sure, but he did not take that one step over the line. And Harry would keep it that way, at all cost.

So the notion that he would not have to hold Tom back from tormenting Mr and Mrs Cole was fantastic news.

"Hepzibah Smith?" he questioned, getting a short nod from Dido in response. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" he said in passing as he made his way over to the other end of the room, closing in on a pleasantly smiling Slytherin boy.

He couldn't get a word out, however, for he found himself in the middle of a heated discussion between a couple of the younger Slytherins, Alphard's brother Cygnus in the forefront of it all.

"I can't believe he actually said that!"

"Is he even able of civilized behaviour?"

"Well, I'm not surprised, after what he did to Amy once... You remember?"

"Can't forget, actually. It was fearsome."

"I just wanna curse him, that hairy oaf!"

"You're not talking about me, I hope," Harry chimed in, seeing in the corner of his eye how Tom hid a humoured snigger behind his hand, obviously having their latest disagreement clear in mind still.

"Of course not! Hairy, not Harry!" Cygnus exclaimed, his cheeks reddening slightly. "It's that half-giant Hagrid who has gone berserk again. Blew up like an overheated potion, he did, for no reason at all!"

Harry couldn't say he was surprised to find out Hagrid had been in yet another spat with his classmates. He was a fifth year Gryffindor, and once Harry had realized his old friend had come to Hogwarts he'd been overjoyed. Happy to have regained something from his old life that he thought was forever lost.

But as the weeks passed by, he came to the realization Hagrid was not his old friendly self. Least of all to Harry, who hung out with _slimy Slytherins_. The giant boy had a fierce temper, and once he got angry, he _really_ got angry. Like, splitting tables in two angry. And everything about Harry seemed to tick him off.

The attempts at making polite conversation with him had all been in vain, Hagrid had formed his opinion about Harry and would not change it.

So Harry kept his distance, watching from afar as his old friend got lonelier and lonelier, no one comfortable around him. It hurt him to the core to watch how people so openly showed their dislike of him, while he could do nothing to help. He'd tried to make friends with him, for if people saw that Harry could get along with the boy, they would be able to as well. But that had just proved impossible. Hagrid was probably the one person most hated in the entirety of Hogwarts.

Harry listened politely for a minute to the fifth year's rant, but slowly slipped closer to Tom so that he could hiss secretly into his ear of what he'd learned from Dido. They shortly decided to change their plans for the next Hogsmeade outing – to Harry's great relief.

* * *

A black, conjured umbrella floated just above their heads as they walked down the cobblestone street of the dark, little town. The late November afternoon was darkened by angry clouds, and out of them poured a heavy rain that pattered loudly against the stiff fabric of their cover.

Harry was feeling a bit apprehensive about what he was about to put himself through. Or rather, perhaps, what he would put the poor woman Hepzibah Smith through.

From what they'd managed to learn about her she was an old widow with an obsession for collecting pretty things. From certain sources, she was hoarding, filling her house to the extent it was becoming a difficulty simply walking around it.

That remained to be seen, however, the reason Harry worried was because he felt uncertain if he should have brought Tom along at all. Perhaps it should have been better to simply keep his mouth shut, make contact with Mrs Smith himself and then come clean once he had the locket in his possession. That might have been better, for he knew his best friend had a bad habit of hoarding things as well. And what would happen with him in a house full of valuable trinkets and most probably a heirloom of his own family – something was telling him it would not go down well.

But, still, had he stayed silent Tom would be on a little trip of his own right now, torturing, possibly killing, his old caretakers.

No, this situation was definitely to be preferred. Harry would just have to stay vigilant at all times.

They had been lucky. After some careful consideration they had decided to breach the topic on one of Professor Slughorn's Slug Club meetings. They had claimed they needed to do some interviewing for their theses, and that they'd heard of a certain witch who would be perfect for the job. Their professor had swallowed the bait, hook and line at once and most excitedly hurried to tell them all he knew about his dear old friend, Hepzibah. To their even greater luck, he had agreed to send her a letter for them, assuring her of their commitment to their studies and their gentle personas.

And here they were, after two months of research, setbacks and lately sheer luck, they were standing on the porch of the house where they would find what they were after. Slytherin's locket.

Harry braced himself briefly and pulled the string next to the door, making the gentle chiming of a little bell sound from inside the grand brick house. The heavy oak door creaked open moments later and a very little, and very old, house-elf peeked out at them.

"Mr Potter and Mr Riddle, sirs? You are expected. Please, come in." The elf opened up the door widely and bowed deeply for them as they passed through the threshold. Harry slipped off his outer robe, momentarily looking around him for a coat-hanger to hang it on. But the little elf only flicked its fingers and the boys' cloaks whooshed out of the entrance and into a cabinet close the the staircase.

As they followed the house-elf to wherever Mrs Smith would receive them, Harry couldn't more than agree with what he'd been told of the old lady. She was definitely a hoarder. Glancing sideways, he saw Tom had already gotten a greedy gleam to his eyes. Harry briefly grabbed the other's wrist, shooting him a warning glance, and then proceeded to follow the elf into a grand, but crowded, living room.

In one of the plush sofas sat a big, old woman, with a gigantic, orange wig on top of her wrinkly head. Her face was covered in make up, to the extent of looking like someone from the Rococo Era, with arsenic covering every piece of visible skin. She was dressed in a puffy, golden ball gown and her feet were pressed into tiny ornamented slippers.

She didn't get up to greet them, but stayed still in place, making Harry wonder if she in fact _could_ rise from the position at all, or if the weight of her body forbade her from it.

Once she caught sight of her visitors, her caked face shone up like a sun, her eyes starting to sparkle with something that looked like greed. "Oh, dear me," she gasped in a childish voice. "You must have travelled a long way – and in this foul weather, too. Please, sit down, my dear boys. Sit down."

Harry and Tom stepped forwards, both bowing deeply to Mrs Smith, greeting her warmly. The old lady blushed a rouge red under the heavy make up and swatted her hand in front of her to make them stop and sit down, although, Harry could tell by her coy smile she in truth enjoyed the attention.

"Well," she simpered, rearranging her skirts while the two boys sat down in the sofa right next to hers. "I must say I was a bit surprised when our sweet Horace decided to owl me right out of the blue – I haven't heard of him for months, that old trickster. But, of course, I am always glad to have a little chat about my dear old trinkets. It is good young boys such as you interest yourselves with old artefacts for their history, and not simply for their value. I'm glad to see it. And such handsome boys, too," she said, letting out a little giggle that made Harry's stomach churn. He pushed the feeling down, however, and plastered a kind smile onto his face instead, used to humour his elders from too many a Slug Club party.

"We are pleased you'd have us," Tom said softly from his position at Harry's side, and Hepzibah batted her eyelashes at him suggestively.

"Oh, dear me, I _assure _you, Mr Riddle, the pleasure is all mine," the old lady fawned before turning to her side, snapping sharply for her house-elf. "Hokey! The refreshments, if you would."

The little, crisp creature soon arrived with a big silver tray balanced on the top of her head, a huge fruit cake on top of it, as well as three pink porcelain cups filled to the rim with sweet smelling tea of some kind.

It soon turned out Mrs Smith was more than pleased to be talking about her possessions, and felt no need to ask them about the subject of their theses and what would be relevant for them. She babbled on, ordered for one thing after the other to be taken out for them to look at, the little elf soon panting because of the strain it was being put under, running around, carrying heavy loads. Hepzibah didn't seem to notice, however, but told them tale after tale, showed them shrunken monkey heads, crystal orbs, enchanted sapphires, growling snuffboxes – even a 1500 years old fossilized dragon egg she kept because it was of an extinct breed.

But no locket.

After two hours Harry started to get weary of Tom's restless twitches and decided they needed to get the conversation to some sort of conclusion before his friend lost his marbles and started raiding the house.

Swallowing a nervous lump in his throat, Harry cleared his throat and rudely interrupted Hepzibah in the middle of her amplification about how she came over a particularly valuable piece of furniture.

"It is all very impressive, Madam Smith, you have a fantastic collection." Mrs Smith giggled childishly and made to continue her tale, but Harry hurried to interrupt her again. "And I find it particularly interesting how you can find all these artefacts. Especially the jewellery. I must confess, for the thesis I'm having in mind, I would want to know... What kind of jewellery do you like to collect the most? Do you have anything that is especially interesting?"

Mrs Smith looked surprised at first, in mild chock of the subject of conversation changing so abruptly, but she soon collected herself and smiled coyly at him. Then, she actually bent over and pinched his cheek, hard. "Oh, you naughty boy, trying to get to the depth of my treasure chest all at once. Very well, I will give you boys a little treat!" She winked suggestively and then smiled sweetly at them, leaning backwards in the sofa and snapping for Hokey to go fetch her _the treasure_.

The little elf soon returned with a flat box balanced on her head, evidently relieved her mistress had finally asked her to fetch something light in weight. Her mistress quickly snatched it away once the box was in her reach, and she held it close to her heart, piercing Tom and Harry with sharp looks of secrecy.

"This is one of my most valuable ornaments. I keep it safely locked in – I do not have it to show it off. I just like to keep it good and safe." She slowly opened up the lid, but hurried to snap it shut again, gesturing for her visitors to come closer so that they could see better.

Harry inched closer, careful not to come so close he'd get a full view of Hepzibah's very generous cleavage, and narrowed his eyes at the insides of the box once the lid fell away.

His stomach sank in disappointment.

Inside of the box, safe and snug, wrapped in a deep blue piece of silk, lay an opal necklace. Not the locket they had been hoping for. He could feel Tom shift restlessly at his side.

"Now, isn't it something special?" Mrs Smith fawned, checking their expressions hungrily for confirmation of their interest.

Harry smiled gently at her and nodded silently. "I bought it for quite a hefty sum, down in Egypt," Hepzibah claimed, handing the box over to the boys so that they could inspect the opal necklace more closely. Harry took a quick look at it and proceed to hand it over to Tom, who would probably delight in the opportunity to inspect something so valuable with his greedy eyes.

"It's lovely," Harry assured her, and she smiled watery at him, making him fear for a moment she would pinch his cheek again. "I am sure, with these many necklaces and other jewels, you put them to use then and again."

"Oh, I would never!" Hepzibah exclaimed, giggling in an awkward, high-pitched tone. "An old lady such as I, and with no dinners to go to where they would be proper. No, my dear boy, I just keep them nice and safe."

"Oh, but I think you should!" Harry hurried to assure her. In the corner of his eye, he saw how Tom stroked the opal necklace in his hands like he would a young, fragile serpent. Perhaps it was time to hurry. "Jewellery is made to be used, isn't it? And you would look really nice in them."

Hepzibah let out a joyful squeal and grabbed the flesh of Harry's other cheek in another painful pinch, simpering in a breathy voice. "Oh you naughty boy! You spoil this old lady, you do! But I have to say, if only. If only there was some nice and proper event I could wear them to, perhaps I would consider it."

"But, why don't you ask Professor Slughorn?" Harry hurried to say. "You could come to one of his dinners. We've had some of his friends come visit before – you could to! You could come tell us all more about your artefacts and of all your exiting travels."

"Oh, I don't know," Hepzibah said, sounding doubtful enough, but the look on her face showed nothing else that excitement.

"Please, consider it," Harry prompted, smiling up at her blushing face. "There is one bigger dinner just before Christmas in about three weeks. Why not then? I'm sure Professor Slughorn would be glad to have you."

* * *

"Oh you naughty boy! An old lady such as I, and with no dinners to go to."

Harry was laughing so hard his eyes were dripping with tears, listening to Tom's shrill, and very accurate, interpretation of their dear old Hepzibah _the man-eater_ Smith. They had finally, after assuring their host with great difficulty, they would not need to be fed but would eat properly once they returned to Hogwarts. They'd just arrived in the outskirts of Hogsmeade and were now walking towards the Three Broomsticks to have some strengthening butterbeer.

"No, my _dear boy,_ I just keep them nice and safe," Tom continued, batting his eyelashes and snatching hold of his friend's cheek to pinch it hard – hard enough to leave a mark, Harry thought.

Despite the pain, Harry laughed merrily, recalling the terrible flirting he'd have to put himself through – to no avail it seemed at the moment. They had returned empty handed.

Hopefully, perhaps with a little encouragement, Mrs Smith would consider coming to one of Slughorn's parties, and then they could continue to charm her.

"Can you believe her?" Tom growled in an outraged voice. "Putting us through all that, as if we found it even remotely interesting."

"Well, you seemed interested enough in that opal necklace you almost sneaked into your robe pocket before I stopped you."

"I thought it would be perfect to wear to _one of Professor Slughorn's dinners_. The deep shade of blue would really bring out the green in my eyes."

"Yeah, it'd sure look better on you than on that old hag," Harry agreed, sniggering as he recalled the outrageously ugly form Mrs Smith had made. "Did you see all that make up? And what was that cake on her head?"

Tom laughed in agreement and held up the door of the Three Broomsticks for Harry to enter.

Once inside, Harry immediately caught sight of a person he very much would like to talk to. "Tom," he said, making the other stop with a grip around his arm. "I've been waiting for a chance to have a bite to eat with Eileen. And, she's right there, so I was thinking. Could you manage? I see Silsel and the others are over there, why don't you join them?"

He didn't wait for an answer but made way for Eileen's table, where she sat conversing quietly with her best friend, Druella Rosier. Before he could get very far, however, he was halted by a firm grip on his shoulder.

"Why would you want to have _a bite to eat_ with _her_?" came a hiss close to his ear.

"I meant a date," Harry said quietly, trying to shake the other off. "I want to ask her on a date."

Tom hissed an irritated little rant, and clutched his shoulder even harder in response. "A date? With _her_? What is there to like about _her_? I thought you liked that Melpomene bint."

"What, Serena?" Harry asked in wonder, confused as to why his friend would think he was interested in her of all people. "No, look, we can talk later. I need to catch her before they decide to leave."

And with that he ripped out of the hold and hurried forwards so that Tom couldn't snatch him away again. He needed to do this.

Once he reached the table, he instantly got nervous, looking at the girls in awkward silence for a few painful seconds.

"Hi Harry," Eileen decided to mercifully break the silence with, and he let out a short breath in relief.

"Hi Eileen. Druella."

"Hi Harry," Druella said, smirking knowingly at him, as if she already knew why he was there, invading their private space.

"Hey, I was thinking, that perhaps, like... if you want to, er, we could..." Harry flushed crimson as he realized he was rambling like a lunatic, and tried to clear his head in an attempt at regaining some dignity. "I was wondering if you were hungry... but perhaps you've already eaten... er, I..."

"I could eat," Eileen claimed in a clear voice, full of mirth, and Druella giggled quietly from behind her hand. "Why don't you sit down? Dru was just about to leave anyway, isn't that right?"

"Oh, yes!" Druella exclaimed, getting to her feet, wrapping her green and silver Slytherin scarf snugly around her neck, waving at them as she went.

With her gone, Harry let out a relieved little sigh and sat down, smiling softly at Eileen who was grinning widely at him from the other side of the table.

Things were going as planned.

* * *

_A/N: Okey, I'm not gonna lie – Hepzibah Smith was wicked fun to write! Hope you liked it! And, as always: thank you for all your support. _

_Mischief managed! _


	6. The Devil That I Thought I'd Left Behind

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Six

_The Devil That I Thought I'd Left Behind_

* * *

"You look beautiful," Harry said with a soft smile on his lips, holding out an arm for his girlfriend to lay her gloved hand upon. Eileen was wearing deep blue, sparkling dress robes – the flowing material and the shifting pattern reminding him of a star-filled night sky. He felt much too simple standing next to her, wearing a neutral black set of dress robes.

"Thank you," Eileen said, smiling back at him with painted dark red lips, leaning forwards to press them softly against his right cheek. "You are much too kind."

They walked arm in arm out of the entrance hall and into the west wing. As soon as they reached the dead end of the corridor Harry reached out a hand to caress the wall rug, with the pattern of the four Hogwarts animals on it, making it purr contently and roll itself up. Behind it Professor Slughorn's Christmas party was in full swing, guests mulling about to the joyful music playing in the background.

In the middle of the west wing reception room there stood a long table filled with holiday foods of all sorts. To one side of it stood lots of round tables, many a guest already sitting down feasting on their findings from the buffet table. To the other side was a space free of furniture, where people for the moment was mingling about, but where Harry knew the dancing later in the evening would take place.

As Harry and Eileen stepped through the threshold little name tags appeared on their robes, right above their hearts. _Harry James Potter _and _Eileen Helena Prince_, they read.

The couple barely had the time to step into the ocean of people before they were being attacked by a horde of Slytherin girls who wanted to know every little detail about their three weeks old relationship. They were all so curious, happy for them and had known they had been just right for each other, all along.

Harry could feel his cheeks strain painfully after just half an hour of polite conversation with the girls and excused himself with the notion of wanting to get drinks for Eileen and himself. He locked eyes with his girlfriend – intoning the message he'd hurry back as fast as he could – and made his escape.

Standing at the end of the buffet table, where the aperitifs were, he caught sight of Tom at the other end of the room. He sat at one of the round tables, poking the tip of his wand at something on the table in front of him in a lazy manner. Next to him sat a bunch of loud, red faced men – but curiously enough, the otherwise so charismatic and crowd pleasing boy did nothing to make himself a part of their conversation. In fact, he seemed to be ignoring them.

Frowning in confusion, Harry made his way over and sat down next to the other who did nothing to acknowledge his presence. He just sat poking with his wand at what Harry now saw was his name tag, making the letters on it swirl around into other positions, creating new words and combinations.

"Having fun, _odd immortal lover_?" Harry asked lightly.

"A blast," Tom deadpanned, switching the letters around again, making them change into _milord dot removal_. Harry sniggered discretely behind his hand at this, but the other didn't seem to take notice of the fun of it and didn't react at all.

"Your impeccable façade is slipping, you know," Harry tried, offering one of the aperitifs to the other, who accepted it numbly and downed it all in one big gulp. "Alright..." Harry said hesitantly, sipping on his own glass, eyeing the other carefully.

"What's the point of it anyway?" Tom hissed out quietly, looking into the depth of his empty glass, poking his name tag again in a mindless manner, making it change into _devil marmot drool_. Harry choked on his drink seeing this and coughed loudly while his eyes watered in merriment.

"I need to try that," he gasped out as soon as he'd regained control of his breathing. Slipping off his own name tag, he pointed the wand at it, watching as the letters shuffled and turned into _jersey parrot math_. "Yours was better," he concluded and switched the letters back.

Tom only hummed in an uncommitted manner and stared ahead of him at some thing or another at the other end of the large room. He absent-mindedly poked his name tag once again with his wand, and didn't even look to see what words the letters changed themselves into this time. Harry, however, saw and felt his heart stop in ice cold terror.

_I_ _am Lord Voldemort. _

Panicking, he hurried to change the letters back into their original positions before Tom would catch sight of the words they'd formed. He then opened his mouth helplessly to try and find something out of the blue to distract his friend with, but he didn't have time to come up with anything before Tom beat him to it.

"The man-eater has arrived."

And indeed. Harry looked up just to catch sight of Hepzibah Smith, accompanied by her little frail house-elf, moving ever so slowly towards the buffet table. Her weight made her walk awkwardly, making her swing from side to side like a penguin, and her powdered face shone alarmingly red out of fatigue. Standing on her two legs, Harry realized just how short she was, but the curly wig on her head made her seem at least 3 feet taller.

He let out a deep sigh in relief – Tom hadn't seen what words the letters had formed themselves into. He still had no clue his future had once been Lord Voldemort. Perfect.

"Good," he said, standing up to walk over to Mrs Smith and make himself known. He soon noticed Tom hadn't come with him, however, and turned around to look at the other in irritated disbelief. "You coming?" he prompted and glared when he only got a blank stare in response.

Without waiting for the other to make up his mind, he strode over and grabbed him by the arm, hauling him onto his feet to drag him along. Tom hissed silently in irritation and gulped down Harry's glass of alcohol as well, which he'd apparently had the time to snag off of the table before he was whisked away.

Brilliant, Harry thought bitterly. A drunk potential Dark Lord – just what he needed.

"Good evening, Mrs Smith," he said in a gentle tone as the pair of them reached their target. The puffy little woman turned to them with a wide grin on her face, looking like the cat that got the cream, fanning herself with one of her fat hands.

"Oh, dear me – there you are, boys. My, and how dashing you look, both of you."

Harry smiled kindly at her, giving her a mock bow, which she giggled at in a silly manner. Tom stood a little behind him and barely contributed to the conversation at all. Hepzibah shot a couple of questions and exhortations his way, only getting short answers of agreement or acceptance in response.

It started to concern Harry, greatly, how little Tom seemed to be interested in what was going on around him. He usually was so sharp and cunning about things – especially if they could prove useful to him. And what was a social gathering such as this if not useful? And what of their relationship with Mrs Smith?

No, something was going on, and Harry did not like it. He felt anxious his best friend was behaving like this, wondering what was wrong. But for the moment, he pushed the unsettling thoughts away and concentrated on warming Hepzibah up further so that she finally could lead them to their goal.

The old lady had followed his advice quite literally, he noticed with slight amusement. She seemed to have put on every little piece of jewellery she could possibly own. Around her fat neck hung rows and rows of pearl necklaces, and above it all, the opal necklace she'd shown to them on their home visit. Her arms were littered with bracelets in gold and silver, and on all of her fat fingers sat rings decorated with fat gems in varying colours. She looked like a pirate, in Harry's opinion.

But still, the locket was nowhere to be seen. Despite her blatant use of her entire treasure chest, she had decided to keep the most important part at home, out of reach. It annoyed Harry how close to, but at the same time far from, their goal they were. With not much else to do, he increased his efforts of charming the old lady, in order to make it impossible for her to forget them and possible for her to wish to come visit them again.

Midway through their conversation, or Harry's and Hepzibah's anyway, he caught sight of Eileen struggling through the crowd towards them. His heart sank in worry when he remembered his promise to her of how he was going to hurry back to her side. It must have been at least one hour ago at this point.

She didn't look angry though, he saw to his relief as she came to stand at his side, and let out a deep breath as he caught sight of her soft smile. "May I introduce you to my girlfriend, Mrs Smith?" he said, putting an arm around Eileen's shoulders, pulling her closer to him as he spoke. "Eileen Prince. And Eileen, this is Hepzibah Smith, who was kind enough to let Tom and I interview her for our theses."

"A pleasure," Eileen said kindly, offering her hand to shake. "Harry has told me so much about you, Mrs Smith."

Hepzibah on the other hand only looked at her with a sneer and turned her chin up into the weather. She uttered a drawled "Yes..." before turning around to continue her tail about cat statues in China with the bored looking Tom, instead.

Glad to have a chance at escape, Harry led Eileen onto the dance floor, counting on Tom to continue their mission without him. A couple of minutes later, however, as he momentarily glanced towards the buffet table, Tom was nowhere to be seen and Hepzibah stood conversing with Professor Slughorn instead.

* * *

The Christmas holidays passed in a blur. Days flashing by before he'd even realized they'd been there in the first place. None of the Hogwarts students were allowed to leave the castle for the holidays – so the Christmas Eve feast was quite a huge deal this year around.

Harry remembered his first year at Hogwarts in 1991 and couldn't help but compare, the sheer difference was that great. For one, there were people everywhere: merry ones who took the chance at celebrating, sad ones who was missing their families, and angry ones who plotted a great escape. But mostly, people seemed to be enjoying themselves, having lots of private parties in all the varying spaces of the castle.

Harry didn't think he'd ever been to so many parties in all his life as he had this very Christmas holiday. There didn't seem to be an end to them. And although he wasn't that kind of person who enjoyed dancing, chatting and mucking about all that much, Silas and Alphard managed to bully him into attending every single one with them.

On the 23rd of December they celebrated the end of classes with the Slytherins in the Slytherpuff room, on the 24th the day before Christmas was celebrated together with The Severers in their very own club room. The 25th was, of course, littered with dinners and parties – starting with breakfast in the great hall, moving on to a lunch gathering with the Slug Club and later a grand Yule Ball in the great hall. The remaining days were just as littered with parties, making the days kind of float together for Harry – one day standing out in particular since they'd been celebrating Tom's 18th birthday on the 31st of December.

It was with great relief Harry welcomed the return of the classes at the end of it all, and he could tell most of those around him felt the same way – except for Abraxas, it would seem, who had been walking on clouds the entire time, enjoying himself to the fullest. His joyful behaviour had finally made Alfred so annoyed he'd punched his best friend to the ground, and Harry couldn't really say he blamed him.

But as the merry holidays were over, the cheerful mood came to an abrupt stop as they all received the latest news from the war.

There had been a great battle in Poland, resulting in the death of hundreds and hundreds of sorcerers, as well as Muggles. Harry could thankfully breathe out, being one of the few who didn't have a close friend or relative amongst the causalities. Someone who wasn't that lucky, however, was Romulus. His fears had finally come true – his older brother, Rodolphus, had died in a very gruesome way.

What that meant was that Romulus decided to isolate himself from all of his friends, keeping to himself. It also meant his treaty of peace with Harry had come to an end. He now showed right out fury whenever they passed in the corridors, and didn't hesitate to curse the Gryffindor once his back was safely turned away.

Harry didn't like it, of course, but he didn't feel he could blame his on and off friend either. He needed someone to blame, and better it be him than some defenceless first year or Muggle.

What irked him, though, was that Romulus seemed to blame _him _for the death of his brother. As if it had been Harry who had gone abroad to Poland and personally murdered Rodolphus Lestrange. It was very unfair and just so childish a behaviour he felt it better to stay out of the other's way as much as he could rather than take it to heart.

At the side of that drama, there were some other things going on. As things were progressing with Eileen, Tom became more and more distant. It felt like the more time he spent with his girlfriend, the less he'd see of his best friend. It had started at the very beginning of their relationship, and had only progressed as time passed by.

Until the day of Tom's birthday, that was.

Admittedly, they had both had a bit too much to drink – there hadn't seemed to be an end to the grand goblets of Butterbeer coming their way. They had both been drinking merrily, not realizing the beer was of a stronger kind than usual until they both stood up and promptly tumbled over as the alcohol made itself known.

Harry couldn't honestly say he remembered all that much from that night, but he had a vague memory of his conversation with Tom going something like this:

"Hey, Tom, I'm so glad you're here with me. It's so lonely when you avoid me all the time. Don't do that."

"I don't care, you know. I've had it with you and your stupid... stupid. You're stupid."

"Yeah, well, I know you like me anyway."

"I do like you, Harry."

"Well, good! Good! I like you too, Tom."

"Yes, but I don't care, you know? That you are my grandchild... I don't care any more. You're mine."

"Yeah, sure! You're mine and I'm yours, bloody fantastic! Cheers to that!" Harry knew he'd exclaimed before they had both downed another pair of goblets, filled to the rim with butterbeer. The rest of the evening was a big blur to him, and he didn't know the rest of what had transpired.

What he did know, however, was that they'd somehow made up during the night and fallen asleep together on the sofa of the Slytherdor room. He knew that because as he woke up the day after, with an awkward feeling of déjà vu, he once again found himself in a sitting position in one of the sofas with Tom's head resting peacefully on his lap.

After that day, or night more precisely, Tom had made a complete turnaround and did not keep his distance no longer. As in, not at all. He became Harry's shadow, more or less, and their roles suddenly became turned around – Harry being the one who was trying as much he could to escape the other.

Eileen took notice of this as well of course and did her best to keep her boyfriend close at hand. Something that was most of the time a great struggle. The battle for Harry's attention soon became fierce and he more than once found himself in awkward situations.

Such as that one time when he had just finished his Herbology class, one that he only shared with a couple of Hufflepuffs he didn't know and Silas, and the two of them had decided to have lunch in the Gryffinpuff room. They had barely sat down before Eileen had appeared as if accioed, sitting down opposite to her boyfriend, toe flirting to his great amusement.

After that it had only taken Tom five minutes to search them out and demand some, in his opinion, much needed attention. Harry was embarrassed to even think about the fierce battle that had erupted between his girlfriend and best friend after that. They had both wrapped their arguments into sweet, sarcastic sentences, of course, not to cause a scene, but the subtext had been quite clear:

Harry is mine.

The most embarrassing part was that after ten minutes of looking into his lap, feeling his neck flushing bright red, he had taken a wild shot and made his escape – leaving poor Silas behind. He hadn't heard the end of it afterwards, and had had to wear one of his friend's more outrageous knitted hats for two whole weeks after that as a form of apology; advertising it and Silas' supreme knitting skills to the people around every now and then.

In addition to this, the classes took a lot out of him, and Harry found himself more and more often seated in the library, studying frantically – not to better his grades, but to manage and finish his work at all.

It was in the middle of the research for his thesis he stumbled over _that one thing_ that would have him obsessed for months afterwards.

He had, after great a struggle, come up with the perfect aim for his work. Mind healing. The magical kind of psychology – in a way. And one day, rummaging through the shelves of the restricted section in the school library, he had picked out that one book that had changed everything.

_Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ by Owle Bullock.

He had been searching for more information about different sorts of possessions, which affected the mind, when he'd picked out this very book and found out about a certain little object called _Horcrux_. And he was stuck, for weeks and weeks on end, taking up every little scrap of free time he could find.

Because this explained e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g.

Everything he had been asking himself ever since falling through a little black diary all those years ago.

The answer to how.

He had had his suspicions, of course, ever since that episode in the Chamber of Secrets, when Tom had told him how his eyes had turned bright red. The colour of eyes he'd only ever seen in his nightmares. And he'd known. He'd just known right then what that meant.

But he'd still wondered how. And now he knew. A Horcrux. Soul magic. Possession. His body and mind was ever so slowly being taken over by the vilest of the vile. The bane of his existence.

Voldemort.

He had brought that devil through time and space while all the while providing for lodging and assurance of survival.

He'd kept that bastard alive. Something that he quite evidently was paying dearly for.

There was a distinct scraping of chairs and silent murmuring of tired students as the last of them packed their things together to call it a night. The clock was nearing nine pm, the time for the school curfew, and Harry leaned back against the backrest of his wooden chair, feeling his spine crack in protest. Around him on the table, and on the floor for that matter, piles of open books lay – discarded as the reader had switched frantically from one to the other, searching for answers.

The library went silent as the last couple of students left, the only company still there the lit candles floating in clusters over his head. Outside the high arched windows dark clouds floated over the black sky, hiding the stars from view. It was a chilly Mars night, and the warmth from inside the castle walls was creating slight fogging on the glass of the windows.

Harry let out a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and made to arise.

A slight shift from behind him made him turn around in slight terror, only to find a furious looking Tom standing there, looking over his shoulder at what he was reading.

"What the fuck?" Harry exclaimed as he flew out of his chair, pressing a hand against his heart as the chock ebbed away. "What do you think you're doing? How long have you been standing there?"

Tom didn't answer but kept studying the open pages of the books littering the space where Harry had previously been sitting, for – five hours, he suddenly realized with a cringe. No wonder he has hurting in all kinds of places.

Panicking slightly, worried the other would figure him out, Harry hurried to wave his wand so that all the books snapped closed and flew away through the air, settling themselves onto their proper shelves. This, finally, made Tom react as he turned around to face him, an angry scowl on his face.

"I must say," Harry said shakily, desperately trying to distract the other from what had taken up the last five hours of his time. "You put good use to the expression peeping tom, don't you?"

"I enjoy word games," Tom deadpanned, still looking furious, although his tone of voice revealed nothing.

"Oddly fitting, Riddle," Harry said, laughing an awkward laugh that rang through the empty halls of the library. Tom only narrowed his eyes further.

"What have you been doing for the last couple of hours?"

"Nothing," Harry said, way too fast to be sincere, he realized at once, cursing himself.

"No?" Tom said, stepping closer, backing the other up against one of the grand bookcases behind him. "Is that what this is? Nothing?"

Harry's stomach turned into ice as he saw what the other held as a price in his hand. That bastard had managed to snatch _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ from off the table before it got the chance to return to its proper shelf.

Finding sadistic glee in Harry's terror, no doubt, Tom flipped through the pages, humming thoughtfully as he did so. Then, he chose a page and opened the book up further. "Page 505, was it? Oh my, soul magic... Having a new pet project, are we?"

"Tom, give it back!" Harry snapped desperately, throwing himself onto the other to wrestle the book out of his grip. But Tom only threw his long arm straight up into the air, making Harry's fingers about two inches away from reaching the book, ever if he jumped.

"Oh, but why would I do that?" the other asked with an evil smile, taking a big step backwards and turning his back on Harry, so that he could continue to read aloud. "The Horcrux is an object in which the sorcerer can store parts of her soul, so that she may live on even when the body itself is beyond use... What?"

Tom sounded astonished now, and it was no good, he couldn't find out about this! With his blatant fear of death, and there being a solution to his _problem_ – a possibility of immortality, through splitting the soul. It just couldn't happen!

"GIVE IT HERE!" Harry roared, making a wild leap so that both Tom and he ended up in a heap on the floor. But he succeeded – he finally had the book in his grasp. He hurried to stand up again and wave his wand, the book hurriedly flying away back to its proper shelf in the restricted section.

He barely had time to catch his breath before there was a livid hiss from behind him and he was bodily slammed against the nearest bookshelf, his arms pinned behind his back in a painful grip, his cheek pressed against the rough surface of the bookbinders in front of him.

"You are telling me, _right now_, what is going on," came an ice cold hiss very close to his right ear. "And Harry," the barely recognizable voice continued, "believe me, you do _not_ want to lie."

But Harry wouldn't surrender that easily, and neither would the creature inside of his head. He felt his scar flare up in indescribable pain, his furious anger distracting him from it, and he turned the positions around – pleased he was the stronger one of the two of them, despite being a tad bit shorter that the other.

"I'm not telling you a thing," he responded in an ice cold hiss that wasn't entirely his own, and Tom's eyes widened slightly, staring deep into his own.

Then, they narrowed again, the mouth showing teeth in an angry snarl. "Oh yes you are!"

And then, in a move as fast as a striking snake, Tom whipped out his wand and placed it against Harry's right temple – and in the same moment the angry mouth pronounced a furious incantation. "_Legilimens_."

Harry's mind was suddenly overflown by his own memories, as if a dam had broken and the water was helplessly flowing out into unexplored territory. He couldn't stop it, but helplessly stood watching as memory after memory was pulled to the surface by invisible hands, to be examined and discarded.

He felt dizzy, trembling in cold sweat. He couldn't feel his own body – there was only the empty cold as if he was swimming through the cold waters of his own mind. He only felt the pain that erupted as the invisible hands were roving around his brain. Interfering. Turning him into a victim.

He knew he has screaming, he could hear the agonized sound vibrate inside of his head, but the little grasp on reality he had left told him something prevented the sound from escaping his lips.

_Imprisoned_.

Then, he was released from the spell, tumbling out into reality, finding himself back into the previous position of being pressed against the bookshelf, on his back this time. His mouth was covered roughly by Tom's right hand, no doubt the reason why no sound of agony had escaped during the torture.

The look on the other's face was pure disbelief. Outrage. Fear. Excitement. Then it turned back to anger when Harry roughly shoved him away from him and onto the ground, making him land painfully onto his bottom.

"HOW COULD YOU?" Harry screamed at him, eyes filling with angry tears, heart tearing itself apart. He was breathing heavily, body still clammy with cold sweat and his knees were bucking under him, threatening to give in, to throw him onto the ground as well. "What gives you the right to _do that_ to me?" he said in a voice thick with emotion, the weight of what Tom had actually done to him hitting his chest like a bludger.

Because he hadn't been given the answers willingly Tom had decided to dig them forcefully out of Harry's unprotected mind.

And now he knew.

There was no way to tell exactly _what_ he knew, but anything of what Harry had been ever so careful to keep from him could do enough harm to ruin their lives forever.

Tom was quickly on his feet again, and was just about to open his mouth to spit out some venomous spiel in defence, when the sound of hurried footsteps sounded, coming towards them quickly. That made Harry remember where they were – in the library – after curfew.

"Shit!" he hissed out through clenched teeth and hurried to snatch hold of Tom's hand, dragging him along to the Slytherclaw room as stealthily as he could. They made it inside just in time to hear the librarian rummage about in the section where they had previously been standing having a shouting match. The beginning of one, anyway.

They both let out silent breaths of relief – here they would be safe, as long as they kept quiet.

Once having regained control of his racing heart Harry violently let go of the other's hand and went to sit in one of the green velvet sofas, leaning forwards in the seat, looking deep into the dancing fire inside of the hearth in front of him. The only sound that was heard was coming from above them, on the balcony, where a couple of students from either Slytherin or Ravenclaw were sitting using the room to its fullest – studying after curfew.

Tom evidently decided to take advantage of the many reasons why Harry couldn't violently lash out at him in this setting, and calmly sat down next to him on the sofa, as if nothing at all was amiss.

"What did you see?" Harry croaked out in a rough, but quiet voice.

"We are not related," Tom answered in a neutral tone, an indifferent mask slipping onto his face. That, oddly enough, gave Harry the strength to imitate the gesture and he twisted his own features into a mask of complete calm as well.

"Told you so."

"Yes, I believe that is the only secret amongst all the others you have decided to reveal to me."

Harry let a sigh of frustration pass through his lips and put his head in his hands, pulling roughly on his hair, grinding his teeth against the devious headache that assaulted him – worsened by the rude abuse of his mind.

"But, we are not related," Tom continued flippantly. "We do not share blood. That was not what pulled you through time, I was wrong there... but, I was correct in everything else. The reason was what I thought all along – we shared something that made the time line confused. Making it think we were the same person at the same position, same age and time – only in different years – meshing us together. And the reason why it got confused was not blood. It was me. My soul. There is a piece of my soul inside of you. You are a Horcrux. Created on the night when you were just about killed... killed by me. Lord Voldemort."

Tom went silent and very still, sitting watching the other in silent fury.

"You never planned on telling me this."

"No," Harry agreed silently and something dark and ugly crossed Tom's features – contempt. "Your diary was a Horcrux as well," Harry continued in a defeated voice, finding no reason to keep anything hidden any more – Tom had already seen it all, first hand with his greedy eyes. "Which was what made all of it possible in the first place. The three soul parts connected, pulling me through. And you were left alone because the version of the diary you carried with you was not yet turned into a Horcrux."

"You've spent a long time thinking about this. Deceiving me."

"I have hardly deceived you, Tom," Harry contradicted in a violent, but quiet hiss, feeling his scar flare with the anger. "I have told you no lies, I have not plotted against you. Everything has been for your sake – to keep you safe."

"And you thought you could lock me into a golden cage and expect me to make do with that?" Tom replied just as violently. "I am not your responsibility. I am not your project. You can't fix me."

Harry was just about to retort with something he'd most likely regret in the morning when there was an awful racket from upstairs and a gang of fourth year Ravenclaws came down the spiral staircases and walked past them to exit through the eagle portrait hole. They all looked a little flushed and sneaked peeks at them, all the while seemingly trying to get out of the room as fast as possible.

As soon as they were gone Harry stood up and started to pace in front of the fireplace, trying his best to keep his temper in check. "I'm not trying to fix you. I'm trying to _help_ you."

"You can't help someone who doesn't know they need the help. All you have done with your _help_ is manipulating me."

"I haven't fucking _manipulated _you!" Harry spat out and Tom flew to his feet as well.

"Yes you bloody well have! You have actively done your best to keep this from me. Done your best to pretend I'm not a ticking time bomb, giving me no chance to understand, to make up my own mind. You've treated me like a fucking _porcelain doll_!"

"All I have done is that I have kept quiet about what I knew-"

"No, you lied to me!" Tom interrupted furiously, grabbing a painful hold of Harry's upper arms, shaking him back and forwards. "I asked you to tell me what would become of me, and you didn't say anything."

"I didn't know that then!"

"Yes, but you found out, didn't you? And you still kept quiet, although you _knew_ I wanted you to tell me."

"TELL YOU WHAT?" Harry roared, not caring any more if the nosy librarian walked in on them or not and that a Gryffindor shouldn't be up and about around these parts at night. "Tell you that you would possibly turn into the man who killed my parents? Who tried to kill me? The monster who was so feared by the entire magical world that hardly anyone dared speak his name? Tell you there was a chance you would turn into everything that I hate. How could I?"

"Because I wanted you to," Tom said in a quiet voice, tinted with something that stung Harry's heart painfully with guilt.

"Of course you wanted me to," Harry said, his voice shaking against the lump in his throat. "Why wouldn't you want to know about how powerful you could become. How far you could reach, how far the dark arts could take you. By which means you could reach immortality."

"Yes, you're right," Tom claimed in a steady voice, tightening his grip as Harry started to struggle against the hold he had on him. "I wanted to know all that. From what I've gathered from your descriptions, Voldemort was a great wizard. Very strong and knowledgeable. He even pushed the limits so far he finally reached immortality... And that could be me... If I wanted to. But, that doesn't mean it will change anything."

Harry stopped struggling and looked up into the dark green eyes of his friend, not really believing his own ears. Tom didn't care? The knowledge he could turn into Voldemort didn't affect him?

"What... why?" Harry managed and Tom's mouth twisted itself into a grimace of disgust, as if what he was going to say left an ugly taste in his mouth.

"Do you really think I would ever, willingly, turn into something that you hate?"

A heavy spring rain poured down outside the window, slowly melting the snow outside, as the two of them stood looking at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

To Harry, it felt like someone had come and ripped away the rug from under his feet, only for him to fall. And he'd expected what he would land on to be hard and rough, like a cold slippery cliff by the deep ocean – only to find himself landing on a soft summer meadow instead. Safe. Relieved.

"Oh," Harry finally managed as he simply stepped out of Tom's slackened hold, and sat down onto the sofa again. "Thank Merlin," he exclaimed in a whisper a moment later, and buried his head in his hands again, this time holding back an odd desire to laugh.

"We need to get him out," came a voice from above his head, and looking up from his hunched position Harry saw Tom standing right in front of him, arms crossed confidently across his chest.

"Get him out?"

"Voldemort," Tom explained shortly, tapping one of his feet impatiently against the stone floor. "He is the reason behind your illness. He's leeching onto you, getting stronger. He's getting aware of his surroundings – which is the reason for your bouts of headaches, your faintings, your eyes turning red on occasion. If we don't do something, he will possess you completely. He will take over your body."

"Yes, well I know," Harry responded, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "You picked all of that out of my head, you know. It was my conclusion after months of research."

Harry refused to look at the other as he said this, making Tom let out a deep breath, dust off his clothes from the sound of it, and take a seat next to him on the sofa.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," Harry said, not managing to hinder the corners of his lips to curl into a smirk.

"No, I'm not," Tom agreed and shifted into a more comfortable position, evidently relaxing at seeing Harry smile despite his poor mood.

Harry rearranged himself as well and sighed deeply. It was good to know he wouldn't have to go through all of this alone any more.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews and all the love. _

_Mischief managed! _


	7. I Chased You

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Seven

_I Chased You_

* * *

Harry woke up with a start, as if emerging from under deep water. Panting heavily, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his Gryffindor red and gold nightgown. Breathing heavily, he noticed that his throat was sore, as if he'd spent the entire night screaming in his sleep. But, judging by the sleeping forms in the beds around him, that couldn't be the case.

Harry twisted around in his sheets, laying flat on his back and stared up aimlessly into the dark ceiling, waiting either for sleep to claim him again or, if that wasn't possible, for morning to come.

The fuzzy feelings from the night before were all gone – the light-hearted happiness that had engulfed him, when Tom told him he would never turn into Voldemort only because Harry would hate him for it, had seeped out during the night and left him entirely. What was left was bitter tasting fury at what his _best friend_ had done to him before that.

He had been blinded by the overpowering feelings of relief once all his secrets were out in the open, proving all his fears to be for naught. He remembered clearly the moment when all the tension had let go of him – He and Tom had been standing still in silence, just looking at each other for minutes as the rain poured down, washing away all the weight from off Harry's heart, leaving it light and soaring.

He'd been able to laugh then – it hadn't been because of any sort of amusement, but out of pure relief. Tom had walked along the thin line separating him from what he could become and decided, on his own, he would not cross but rather take a firm step back. Away from Voldemort, and all that that name meant.

But on the other hand, now afterwards, when the calm had settled in and reality came creeping back, Harry was left with the other part of yesterdays encounter. The part he would much rather forget about.

He had been brutally pushed up against a bookshelf, standing powerless as Tom roved through his mind in search for answers – inflicting severe pain, while coldly covering his victim's mouth with a hand to quiet the screams.

It was cold, brutal and _so_ typically Tom Harry couldn't really say he was surprised. Thinking back on all the years they'd known each other, he wasn't surprised in the least. In fact, he knew Tom to be short tempered, nosy and having so little empathy he could not possibly relate to other people's pain – doing something like this wasn't only unsurprising, it was in fact to be expected if he was pushed far enough.

Largely because of his Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, rooted in his extreme fear of death. It made him obsess over all sorts of things – among them, Harry himself. He had, somewhere along the way, decided that his best friend belonged to him and therefore saw no reason whatsoever why he wouldn't be allowed to decide everything for him.

They had had spats about it many times before, and Tom now understood that if he wanted to keep Harry by his side he had to take his feelings and choices into consideration. It had been hard work to teach him that, but somehow Harry had managed.

What had happened now was that Tom had snapped. Harry had pushed his buttons much too hard with his avoidance, his secrecy and his blatant refusal to reveal what had him so distracted. Tom had clearly become very angry and hadn't seen any other solution than to use brutal force to get what he wanted.

And he'd gotten it, alright. But he'd pushed much too far in order to get it. And he didn't even know it.

Tom thought everything was fine between them, but it wasn't. Harry wasn't happy, he was angry – and he had every right to be. Not only because his best friend had dared to do that to _him_, but also because he had done it at all. Using Legilimency on somebody against the other person's will was nothing less than abuse. And the fact that Tom had dared to do it to Harry, whom he did all in his might to stay close to, meant he had no scruples about doing the same thing to somebody else.

Anybody else.

It could not happen! This was just the sort of thing that separated Tom from what he was and what he could become, in a worst case scenario. He could not go around violating other people, in any sort of way. Harry had to put a stop to it, immediately!

The only way to do that was making Tom realize exactly how wrong his actions had been. Nothing else would work.

Making a firm decision to see this through to the end of it, no matter what, Harry steeled himself and got out of bed to take a long shower in preparation. When he got down to breakfast with Ignatius, Rowan and Bree he was prepared for battle with a coolness that could only be found in those moments when he knew he had no other choice but to do what was right, rather than what was easy.

As soon as he arose from the table he saw in the corner of his eye how his Slytherin friends mimicked his motions. Harry walked out of the great hall and stood staring into the wall as Tom and the others made themselves known.

"Morning Potty," Silas greeted him with a wide grin and punched his shoulder playfully. "Look, I made a present for you."

With those words Harry's head was rudely assaulted by another one of Silas' funky knitted hats – this one in a bright pink colour, decorated with tiny little dots of purple. Its tussles fell down like two braids on either side of his face, making his nose tickle uncomfortably.

"Lovely," Harry lied, forcing a smile onto his stiff lips. "What's the occasion?"

"Occasion? Oh, er... you know, for Grizel Mulmont's Day... Which is today, so wear it, okay?"

"Grizel what now?" Harry asked in incomprehension, letting out a disbelieving laugh as Alfred took it upon himself to hit Silas over the head, making the short scrawny boy let out an indignant "_Hey!_" in protest.

"Stop making stuff up, you saphead!" Abraxas growled from his side, shaking his head in disagreement. "There's no such thing as a Grizel Mulmont's day."

"Well, how would he have known, eh? He hasn't grown up around magical folk. If you hadn't told him he probably wouldn't have realised," Silas claimed in an offended tone.

"Hey! Have lived in the magical world for years now, remember?" Harry exclaimed, feeling a bit insulted. The others only rolled their eyes at him. "What? I know stuff!"

"And you don't think he'd become suspicious when nobody else in this bloody castle was wearing anything like it to cheer for the great day of Milmont, eh?" Alfred exclaimed as if Harry hadn't said anything at all, pinching Silas in the side, making him skip to the side to come and stand safely behind Harry's back.

"Mulmont, dumbass. Like the Egyptian Fashion Guru..." he piped up, sticking out his little pink tongue at the others.

Harry sighed deeply and decided to defuse the tension before the childish bickering turned into a fully fledged argument. "What is it? Why do you want me to wear it so badly?" he asked the impishly smiling boy behind his back, making his smile turn into a sheepish grin. He didn't get a word out, however, before Alfred decided to answer for him.

"He's been going around all morning, trying to get us all to wear those crazy hats. Wants us to do some free advertising for him, that's what he's on about."

"What crazy hats?" Silas piped up, pouting as if hurt. "They're not crazy... Right Harry? You like them, right?"

Harry's smile stiffened further. Oh great... Now he would have to wear this monster of a hat all day unless he wanted to hurt Silas' feelings. There was no way he was going to do that.

"Love 'em," he decided, making the other squeal happily and hug him from behind.

"See?" he leered at an indignant looking Alfred, Abraxas and Tom standing behind him rolling their eyes at each other. "They're not crazy, and they'll be quite popular one day when I stand next to Mulmont and the other fashion geniuses as their equal. You'll be sorry you ever scorned me!"

And with that Silas smiled happily, pulled out yet another knitted hat out of his robe pocket and placed it on the top of his own head. Its bright turquoise colour clashed horribly against the little pink hearts it was decorated with, and Harry silently thanked all deities in the world he hadn't had to wear _that one_ at least.

"Or," Alfred cut in, as soon as he'd regained control of his sniggers, "_you_ are the one who will be sorry once you realize what a mistake you've made once every proper person in the fashion industry starts laughing behind your back."

"Well now," Abraxas interrupted with a great sigh, grabbing hold of Alfred's shoulders, forcing him forwards in an awkward frog-march. "Stop your bickering, you sorry excuses for adult wizards, we'll miss Charms altogether at this rate."

The lot of them hurried to the third floor, making it to the only class they all had in common for their final year. People around them were casting curious glances at Harry's and Silas' headwear. Harry found this extremely embarrassing, but Silas thought it a great opportunity for doing some advertising for his self made garments as well as the clothing line, named _Silsel_, that he would be working on after he graduated. Alfred, on the other hand, took it upon him to ridicule his friend behind his back all the while, making half the people they passed laugh at Silas instead of listening to him. That didn't seem to matter in the least for him, however, which seemed to only agitate Alfred all the more. Harry strongly suspected he was jealous of his friend for some reason, but of what was hard to tell. Did he have a secret wish to become a fashion designer, or something?

Alfred soon gave up his desperate attempts at sabotaging the other, and settled with scowling angrily at his back. Harry heard him mutter "Silsel... dammit, and I gave him that stupid nickname in the first place...", and could barely restrain his laughter. Yes, definitely jealous.

As soon as they'd made it to the Charms classroom, Harry hurried to pull Tom aside, declaring he needed to speak with him. He got curious looks from the others, but they left them behind without complaint, to Harry's great relief as well as horror.

He led Tom further down the corridor, sneaking into the trophy room after checking it was empty, all the while trying to regain the steely determination he had gathered at breakfast before Silas stuck a bloody bonnet onto his head.

"You look ridiculous in that hat," Tom snickered, as if he had read Harry's mind. Well, that was the root of the problem, wasn't it?

That though in mind, Harry took a deep breath and pierced Tom with a steely look of pure fury. The other simply furrowed his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching with held back laughter.

"Sorry, have I offended you?" he said, stepping closer so that he could reach out and play with the braided tussles hanging from the hat down the sides of Harry's face. "Do you really, _actually, _like it?"

Instead of answering, Harry simply slapped his hands away and stalked over to the other side of the room, keeping his back turned to the other so that his composure wouldn't soften by the hurt look Tom surely was giving him by now. He had to teach Tom this lesson, and he had to be sharp about it. Giving in was losing, and he couldn't lose this time.

He couldn't lose Tom.

"What's wrong?" the other asked from behind him, and Harry took another deep breath and stared at a set point on the stone wall, picturing his furiously beating heart turning into that very same material, just for a little while.

"I am angry at you," he proclaimed in an as calm tone as he could muster, feeling his stomach churn at what he was about to do.

"Gathered as much," Tom said quietly, shifting slightly, tentatively stepping closer. "Why?"

"Because of what you did to me, last night," Harry said coldly, still focusing with all his might on the stone wall in front of him.

He heard Tom hesitate, standing still for a couple of heart beats, before he started coming closer again until he stood immediately behind Harry's back, breathing into the back of his head. "What did I do to you, that made you angry, last night?" he wondered, as if he didn't already know the answer.

"You trapped me against a bookcase, threatened me, dug your way deep into my mind to get what you wanted, hurt me to the point that I screamed in agony while you simply held your hand over my mouth to quiet me. You tortured me last night."

Harry felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck shift as Tom let out a shaky breath. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered softly, the tone tainted with something Harry recognized as guilt. Good, he thought bravely, that meant the bloody bastard actually did feel some remorse about what he'd done. That would make things a bit easier.

"Yes, you did," he contradicted quietly. "You knew what Legilimency does to people, you knew what it would do to me."

"You didn't give me any other choice," Tom claimed, and Harry finally felt his heart harden with anger at that statement.

"No other choice?" he breathed out furiously. "What, I didn't tell you what you wanted to know and that left you no other choice but to _force _it out of me? What, I had it coming? Should I beware now? Do I have to watch my back every time you want something out of me?"

"NO! No, that's not what I meant," Tom exclaimed breathlessly, grabbing a hold of Harry's shoulders, clutching at them with shaking hands. "I was just so... You weren't telling me anything."

"Oh, so it's my fault. I simply provoked you into torturing me, you had no other choice. How silly of me, I see it now," Harry snapped, true anger rolling through him now because Tom was trying to freaking _defend _his actions.

"No, Harry, stop it! Stop misunderstanding me, I never meant it that way. I never meant to go that far."

"Well, you did go that far, Tom. You crossed the line – you fucking went over and beyond the bloody line."

"Shut up!" Tom yelled fearfully and clutched Harry tightly against his chest in a restraining embrace. "Just... just don't! I'm sorry, I told you, I won't do it again."

"I don't believe you," Harry stated coldly, battling against the persistent little voice that told him to stop hurting Tom, that enough was enough. His conscience.

But he couldn't go soft now, he needed to finish it. "I can't trust you when you quite obviously was capable of doing it last night. Why not again? Why not to somebody else? What's stopping you?"

"Please, " Tom gasped, his hands and arms shivering uncontrollably as if cold. "Please... I was just trying to help."

"Help whom, Tom? You? Because you certainly didn't _help_ me."

"You keep shutting me out," Tom whispered in a haunted voice. "You keep slipping away, through my fingers, hiding things from me. You make it impossible for me to stay by your side. That's all I wanted, not to hurt you. I wanted to _know._"

Harry let out a deep breath and felt himself deflate, shrink together, his stone cloaked heart beating a hole in his chest from the pure pressure of staying cold and angry when Tom was acting vulnerably for once. Showing that he regretted what he'd done, begging desperately for Harry to understand.

And he did. That was the most horrible part of it. Harry understood perfectly well. All the weeks of secrecy, of sneaking away to the library on his own, of actually avoiding Tom at times because he was so awkwardly set on not giving Harry any form of privacy. From Tom's point of view, Harry actually _had_ been avoiding him, slipping away, as if he didn't want to be with his best friend any longer.

He hadn't acted in anger, but in fear.

He feared Harry would leave him. Would start to dislike him and stop being his friend. So he had done something reckless. Evil. Stupid, and now he was even more frightened because in his attempts at making everything better he might have pushed the thing he tried to protect even further away.

Knowing all this, the hard cold truth, Harry could do little more than stand helplessly staring into the wall as Tom stood behind him, shivering, holding him tight while chanting broken whispers of "_sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry_".

But it wasn't over yet. Tom might be sorry, but that didn't ensure Harry he would never use Legilimency on an unwilling subject again. He needed to do more, he needed to land the final blow or everything might have been for naught. He needed to use the final weapon that he knew would make Tom beg on his knees for forgiveness. All well in theory, but in practice – it was just cruel. Horrible. Monstrous.

But he had to do it.

So he braced himself, squared his shoulders and filled up his lungs with fresh air. He already loathed himself.

"I _hate_ you for what you did to me."

Flashbacks attacked his minds of that night after the escape from the asylum, when Tom had broken down in his arms, confessing his fears for the first time.

"_... because you'd think even worse of me, because it's unnatural – inhuman! And then... then you found out what I could do – and you reacted just like I knew you would! You hated me!" _

"_I didn't-" Harry tried again, but wouldn't be listened to. _

"_And then you knew and I tried – I did my best to act normal in front of you – but you saw. You saw me with the horses and I... I could tell you hated me for it! And then... everything else... that doctor... You know it all – you know everything! Every little thing that is wrong with me! Everything that makes me into something else – a freak of nature – aren't I? I'm wicked – nothing special – just wrong, wrong, wrong!" _

Harry had had to spend the rest of that evening reassuring the other he did in fact _not_ hate him, until he finally calmed down and fell asleep.

And now he had used all of that against Tom. His Tom.

He felt sick.

So did Tom, apparently, for he was hissing so furiously Harry couldn't understand a word he was spitting. Suddenly, he was spun around, coming face to face with the deep sorrow that he had single-handedly caused. He had been smart to turn away at the start of their spat, for if this was how Tom had looked all the way through it he surely couldn't have stomached doing what he had had to do.

"You do not hate me," Tom managed at last in a thick voice, his hands clutching Harry's shoulders so hard he could feel the bones grinding against each other.

Harry felt like he was having a claustrophobic attack, the walls moving in on him, his breath coming out in short pants, his ears ringing, his cheeks growing hot.

"You don't hate me, you don't!" Tom repeated in a broken whimper and Harry couldn't take it any more. Enough was enough!

He felt burning tears starting to roll down his cheeks as he flung himself at the other, burying his face in the crook of Tom's neck, wishing he could build a nest there and never come out again in the hard cold world where he had to cause such pain in his beloved friend.

"No," he managed to gasp out. "I still hate what you did but no, I don't hate you. I couldn't..." Warm tears leaked out and travelled down to dampen the black and green robes on which Harry's head was resting on.

"Don't ever do that to me again, you big idiot," Harry whined and Tom simply responded by clutching him even tighter.

Their Charms class both started and ended, but they didn't care. They just held each other through it all, the only witnesses the shining trophies glimmering down at them from their shelves in the dark, damp room.

* * *

Then came the day when everything turned for the worse.

On the 17th of April, Harry found himself in the company of Silas, Abraxas, Alphard Black, and Dido Burke, all of them sitting together around one of the wooden tables in the depths of the school library. The seventh year students sat scribbling furiously on their theses, while Alphard quite casually sat knitting a deep green pullover, with the air of someone who had finished all his studies for the moment and didn't have anything better to do. He kept freezing for long moments at times, though, lost in thought. The others were too, suddenly finding themselves sitting staring into the depths of their parchments while their minds had strayed far away from the paths they _should _be on.

It all had its natural explanation, of course, for this morning at breakfast horrific news had reached them though owl post and the front page of _The Daily Prophet_. News of the war.

Last night, the British troops of sorcerers had marched straight into enemy territory and found themselves in a vicious battle with a great deal of causalities. 263 sorcerers all in all had succumbed to death, and an additional 131 were left fatally injured. People they knew, people they held dear and cared for. People they loved.

Amongst the causalities were a lot of relatives of Harry's friends. A lot of relatives of all the people at Hogwarts. And also, to Harry's great horror, his own Uncle Leonard.

Aunt Katherine had not only lost her only daughter to the war, but her husband as well. Charlus had lost his father, Daniel his grandfather. Arabella had lost one of her two sons and Walter had lost his only brother.

And Harry had lost yet another dear one, but there was no pity to be found for him from the people around. They were all treating their own wounds, mourning their own dead ones.

There were of course those that did not have the great misfortune of losing close ones in this act of war – but those were few, and almost all of them with Muggle parents who were in their turn out fighting the war on the Muggle side of it all.

This was a day of grief for all of them, and perhaps that was the reason why Abraxas suddenly snapped and charged at the unsuspecting Alphard sitting innocently and calmly at his side.

"How _dare you _sit here and fucking _knit_ as joyously as ever? That's bloody mental, you hear me? Mental! You're practically shoving it in our faces how all your relatives managed to live through the attack last night unscratched. You fucking bastard! Do you know how it _feels_? Dammit!"

And with that he was bolting, hurrying away as if shot out of a canon, leaving all his things and his dumbstruck friends behind.

They were all looking at each other, not saying a word, just understanding and letting things be as they were. Only Alphard was looking away, down into his lap, clutching his knitting needles with shaking fingers – in vain trying to continue his work.

"I'm sorry," he suddenly whispered, barely loudly enough to hear but somehow loud enough for the words to ring in their ears.

Then, Silas reached out a hand and put in on top of Alphard's shivering ones, looking deep into his eyes and simply smiling. Soundlessly telling the other how it wasn't his fault and that he shouldn't be feeling sorry.

Harry saw in the corner of his eye how Dido stiffened at the scene and refused to look at it, turning her head away sharply, breathing deeply through her nose.

She had lost both her brothers last night. _Both_. Ascanius and Achates were dead, and Dido was left without them for ever more. Harry found that while she could not bear to look at Silas comforting Alphard, _he_ in his turn could not bear to look at _her_, when her entire being was shining out of pure grief.

He looked away from her, down onto his thesis scribblings, when it happened.

He felt like someone unexpectedly slammed a sledgehammer over his forehead and suddenly everything became pain. He clutched his head and moaned in agony, reaching blindly behind himself to shove the backrest of his chair away, arising slowly and making for the bathroom just outside the library entrance. No one stopped him.

Once he entered the bathroom the burning pain intensified like a thousand hearths ablaze, and he slumped together over one of the sinks, turning on the tap with ice cold water to splash it all over his head and torso.

He was breathing deeply, leaning with all his weight on the white porcelain sinks, the sound of the water flowing out of the tap deafening to his ringing ears.

He was breathing heavily, the Gryffindor tie much too tight around his neck. He ripped it off and tossed it as far as he could manage, making it end up in a pool of water next to his feet.

He knew what was happening, this was old news to him, this had happened before. Certain times when Voldemort's power grew strong enough to battle against the binds that held him firmly in place inside of Harry's mind. Any moment now he would faint from the pain, any moment now.

Any moment now.

Then, light-headedness, the room was spinning, no sound could be heard as if he'd gone deaf.

He slowly looked up into the mirror in front of him and felt his heart beat a hole through his ribcage at the sight that greeted him.

Swirling, crimson pools of death.

He knew he was panting, but he couldn't see it. He knew he was feeling terrible pain, but no sign of agony was visible on his face. He knew he felt terrified, but the corners of his mouth were ever so slowly creeping upwards into a sly grin, the red eyes of his enemy mocking him silently.

Against his will, he found himself standing beside his own reflection. Watching it twist his features into something vile and unnatural. Something that wasn't supposed to be. He felt everything that he was sinking away, the essence of Voldemort crawling to the surface under his skin, like black ants drawn to a piece of sugar left behind in the summer heat.

And then, next to his own face, far behind his back, Abraxas appeared. Reflected just like he was, only in control of his own body. Muffled sounds began to make themselves known in Harry's mind.

"Harry?" Abraxas said in a fearful voice. "Harry, what's wrong?"

The tap in front of them was still spitting out water, Harry distantly heard his own breathing coming out in ragged pants. A low, rumbling laughter of victory was building up in his chest.

Then, Voldemort spun their body around and faced Abraxas' rigid apparition, wand raised threateningly.

"Malfoy," he said in a low, hissed sort of voice. And then, a viciously thought "_Crucio_" went through their shared mind and a spell emerged from out of the tip of Harry's wand.

Harry helplessly screamed his terror as the curse surged towards his friend, but Abraxas thankfully managed to throw himself out of the way just in the nick of time.

The fear suddenly seeped out of Harry's mind completely and pure, terrible anger filled it, and he lunged at Voldemort. Clawing at him, ripping him away and pushing him to the dark depths from where he came from.

He was suddenly in complete control of his body again, and the shock of if made his knees buckle, sending him down onto the wet, cold ground. Then came the pain, making him curl up on himself, clutching his head, weeping, screaming.

Somebody was kneeling at his side, hands roving over his body, desperate to help, not knowing what to do.

Then, finally, came the darkness.

Next thing he knew was a fluffy, warm sort of white world. A blurry world that hurt his eyes when he tried to look at it. But his eyes were adjusting, ever so slowly, and soon a blurry shape was coming into focus from above him.

"Tom?" Harry wondered, not knowing if he had whispered it or only mouthed it. The blurry figure above him didn't seem to react. Perhaps he'd only thought it...

Then, his eyes decided to cooperate and colours suddenly made themselves known. Deep black eyes came into focus, short ash-blonde hair and a hooked nose.

Eileen.

She looked terrible, her eyes bloodshot and wet from crying, no doubt. When she realized Harry was awake, she let out a shuddering breath and took a firmer hold of his left hand.

"Harry? Oh Merlin, Harry? How are you feeling? Hey, I'm here sweetheart, I'm here. I was so frightened."

Harry twisted around a little and found himself lying in a very comfortable bed, all his pains gone, although a tad bit sore, his surroundings telling him he had been brought to the hospital wing.

He silently reached out for Eileen and she immediately fell into his arms, holding him close, weeping on his shoulder while trying not to put any weight on his body. Harry stroked her hair calmly, trying to sooth his own panicking thoughts that were screaming at him that this was bad. This was terrible! Voldemort had grown much too powerful. He needed to _hurry_! He needed to find a cure _now_ or he wouldn't have any more chances.

But Eileen's warmth, her silent breathing and her clutching hands were calming him. Even her soft hair running through his fingers seemed to tell him it was alright. Despite the treacherous little voice in his head telling him just how much he wished the hair would be black instead...

When they had both calmed down, at least moderately, Eileen straightened her back and pierced him with a feral look of utter intent. "I need you to tell me _exactly_ what happened, Harry," she stated calmly.

_I'm so sorry, Eileen... But I won't_, Harry thought to himself before answering her. "It was the sickness I've told you about. It makes me faint at times, it's nothing dangerous really."

Of course he wouldn't tell her the truth – there was no way! He was the one who was supposed to save _her_, not the other way around. Besides, he was almost at the end of his research, or so he was telling himself at least, and Tom was helping him. He wasn't alone in this, and there was no point in worrying Eileen further. He wouldn't tell her.

"But the _sickness_, as you call it, has never put you in the _hospital wing _before, Harry. If you're trying to wave this away as harmless, I just... It can't be, you're not fooling me. This is serious, isn't it?"

Sometimes, Harry bemoaned Eileen's clear-headed perception of the things going on around her.

"It is serious, I know that," Harry said in a calm tone, hoping to soothe his girlfriend with little bits of the truth. "But you don't have to worry, I know what it is, I know how to treat it... Before long it will all be over and done with, alright? It's fine."

Eileen's eyes softened slightly and she reached out a hand to lay it on the side of Harry's face, caressing his cheek softly with her thumb. "You're so brave, Harry. So brave... Almost too brave for your own good, I suspect... But I'm not like you. I'm not brave. When I heard you had had some sort of accident and was taken to the hospital wing... I couldn't breathe I was so scared. I thought the worst... I feared for your life."

"It's alright," Harry whispered, laying his own hand on top of Eileen's smaller one, holding it to his cheek in a comforting grip. "I'm alright, see?" he said and turned slightly to press a soft peck into the palm of her hand.

The sound of somebody clearing his throat interrupted them suddenly, and Harry snapped up his eyes to catch sight of Tom at the foot of his bed. He looked furious. Livid, his eyes piercing Eileen with a look of pure death.

"Out," he said in an ice cold tone of voice, leaving no doubt about what would happen to her did she not comply.

He obviously wanted to talk, about what had happened. What had _truthfully_ happened, and Harry knew Eileen could not be here to hear it.

The best course of action would perhaps be to shove Tom away and tell him to come back later to have their much needed talk then... But that would not be possible, Harry realized as he looked at the other's expression – he was about to explode from the look of it.

Eileen would have to go.

Before she could start arguing with the livid, possessive sadist and possibly get injured in the process Harry clutched her hand tighter, successfully making her eyes snap back to him again.

"Please, Eileen," Harry said softly, letting some of his fear shine through his eyes as he spoke. "Please, I really need to talk to Tom for a second. Just a short while. I promise. It won't take long."

With a long suffering sigh, she nodded silently and pressed a soft kiss onto his forehead before leaving them alone, glaring poisonously at Tom all the while as she went.

As soon as she was out the door and Harry was left alone with Tom, he let all his walls fall, letting his real feelings of utmost fear seep through and bleed through his skin.

Tom sat down on the side of his bed, and Harry forced his sore body into a sitting position so that he could wrap his arms around the other's chest, leaning his head onto the shoulder in front of him. He suddenly felt much better. Safer.

"Abraxas told me you tried to hex him with an unforgivable," Tom hissed in the secrecy of Parseltongue. "Is that true? What happened?"

"Voldemort happened," Harry said and told him everything.

* * *

Harry elbowed Tom in the side, a joyous grin on his face, nodding towards the doorway. Tom excused himself politely to the old wizard they had stood conversing with, and turned to look at him with an annoyed glare.

All around them were lots and lots of eggs, feathers in varying colours and chocolates of all kinds. There stood an entire basket full of Chocolate Frogs, next to a giant Easter ham with all kinds of delicious dishes surrounding it. On the floor little yellow chickens made out of paper, spelled alive, were running about, chipping merrily.

One could say Professor Slughorn knew how to celebrate Easter in, not style perhaps – rather in galore than anything else. He had invited all kinds of guests to enjoy his holiday feast, it being a bit on the crowded side since he had decided to host the party in his own office as opposed to his annual Christmas party that was celebrated in the west wing reception room.

But, apparently, all the guests had not arrived as of yet. Or perhaps now they all had, and the last guest was standing panting from exhaustion in the doorway.

Harry nodded that way once again, and as Tom finally looked in the right direction his glare turned upside down and his grin outshone even Harry's in its brilliance.

"Man-eater," he breathed out in a gleeful voice, all but chuckling evilly. Harry was thankful he didn't.

They stood waiting for a couple of moments, watching as their professor made his way over to his guest to bid her welcome and show her towards the buffet table. As they walked over to it, and in succession also closer to where the two predators were standing, smiling wickedly, Harry caught sight of something that had his heart skip a beat – Mrs Smith was wearing the locket.

Tom caught sight of it too, and he gave Harry a quick nod, silently confirming this meant they would put their plan into action tonight. They had been planning this very carefully, and nothing could go wrong tonight – they didn't have many weeks left of the school year after all. And after this term was over they would not ever come back again. Not to study, anyway.

They had planned the plan very carefully. Mrs Smith had come to a total of four Slug Club parties so far, and never had their plan worked out properly. The old woman had worn all kinds of jewellery: rings, bracelets and earrings of different sorts – but never Salazar Slytherin's locket.

Until now, that was! This seemed to be their lucky night.

Furthermore, they had another mission this evening. Through their research about how to get rid of Voldemort, they had found out a lot, more than they could dream of, about all kinds of Soul Magic – as well as other kinds of Dark Arts that Harry rather not think about for the moment. Or, at all, preferably. Some of those things were quite fearsome in character, so devious that the books themselves screamed upon touch.

But, despite their great progress there was one little factor they could not get their minds around – how did one make a Horcrux? If they were supposed to transfer Voldemort's soul out of Harry's body, the most logical answer would be to somehow create a substitute Horcrux and then destroy it. But how could they do that when the only description of the process they got from out of the books was that "Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction" or, "The Horcrux is created through an act of evil", something that was hardly helpful at all. Maddeningly unhelpful, in fact.

So, the plan was for Harry to charm the locket from off of Mrs Smith, while Tom charmed the secret of Horcruxes out of Professor Slughorn. Very simple, one might think... Harry thought it worse than his previous N.E.W.T level midterm tests, to be quite frank.

But they couldn't put their plan into action this early on in the evening, people would notice if the host and a woman wearing a big sparkly necklace suddenly disappeared from the party. And if the woman in question returned without her brilliant set of jewellery... And besides, it would all go so much more smoothly if the target was a slight bit tipsy, if not drunk, as the plan played out.

So they busied themselves, mingling around, greeting Mrs Smith of course, but leaving her be after that to have all the food she could ever want and a healthy amount of drinks accompanying that. At 11 pm she finally looked ripe enough to pick, and Harry sauntered over with a confident stride, which Abraxas had made him perfect (that one time when Silas had forced them both to model for him in his fashion show), that had her watch him with greedy eyes as he came closer. As he came to stand in front of her she was actually panting as if short of breath, her cheeks flushing alarmingly red, her fat fingers fanning in front of her face in a frantic manner.

"Hepzibah," Harry greeted warmly, smiled softly and picked up the hand that was not fanning its owner, only to place a soft kiss upon it.

"Oh Harry," the old woman gushed, brushing off his dress robes in a motherly way, leaning very close to him and almost resting upon his shoulder as she gazed into his eyes. "I was just about bored out of _life_, I tell you, you naughty boy. You keep me waiting, don't you! Oh, I must say I enjoy your company far too much. Far too much – you must think me such an old crone."

"Not at all," Harry lied smoothly, rearranging the old crone unnoticeably so that she leaned more on his arm than on his shoulder, enabling it for him to move around more steadily – something that would be a necessity once he put his plan into action.

As Mrs Smith fawned over him, Harry sneaked a glance over his shoulder, meeting eyes with Tom. They nodded once to each other as a signal, and Tom immediately made his way through the sea of people and into the fold of his target, a box of crystallised pineapple waiting readily inside of his robe pocket.

Assured the other part of the plan was set into motion, Harry caressed Mrs Smith's forehead softly, letting out a well practised little hum of wonder. "Are you quite alright, Hepzibah? You are looking a bit out of breath. Do you want to take a quick stroll outside?"

The swooning woman quickly agreed, and Harry slowly led her out of Slughorn's office and out of safety. Once they'd gotten outside, he quickly led her to one of the stone benches lining the corridor wall, sitting her down and slipping down beside her, close enough for her to smell the perfume he'd sprayed on earlier than evening.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her softly, close enough to her ear to make his breath ghost over her flushed pink skin.

"Oh! Quite alright, my dear, quite... Well, I have to say... I find myself relieved, my dear, you came alone tonight. No girlfriend leading you around. You're all mine, for once-" She was interrupted by a sudden hiccup that made her generous bust bounce upwards joyfully. "Oh my!" she giggled, patting Harry's knee with a few short slaps. "Perhaps that last glass of firewhisky wasn't one of my most brilliant ideas... But enough about me, now, how about you? How are you feeling, my dear Harry?"

"I... I'm alright..." Harry said, making his voice shake, looking away as if too ashamed to meet Mrs Smith's eyes.

"But, oh dear, what it wrong _my dear boy_?" Hepzibah simpered worriedly.

"Oh no... Nothing... It's just... It's so silly," Harry said, sniffing silently as if holding back tears.

"On, now... _Harry_, you do know you can tell me _anything, _don't you?"

He gave a shaky smile, hesitatingly shifting his eyes up to meet Hepzibah's and then back again. "It's just... I didn't know you had it, is all... I've been looking for it for so long, and here you are, wearing it around your neck.. You've probably had it in your possession all this time..."

"Oh, I'm not quite sure what you're talking of, my dear boy, I..." Hepzibah hesitantly shifted her gaze down onto her chest, where the locket lay snugly, shimmering up at her teasingly. "This?" she asked, pointing questionably at her bosom, surely meaning to aim at the locket in her drunken state.

Harry nodded twitchily and swallowed deeply. "I... It's just, I've been looking for it, you see. Ever since... Ever since I found out..."

"Yes?" Mrs Smith questioned, shifting closer to peer motherly into his eyes.

"Ever since I found out I am Salazar Slytherin's heir."

Hepzibah Smith's eyes went impossibly round and she began fanning herself absent-mindedly with her hand, forming a perfect O with her mouth. "Salazar Slytherin's heir?" she asked breathlessly. "But then, that must mean... But, surely, you can't be... That would make you a..." She shifted closer still, putting a hand to her mouth, clearly intending to whisper. "A Parselmouth!"

Harry straightened his back, meeting her bewildered eyes steadily, and hissed silly nonsense at her. It must have sounded very impressive, or perhaps Hepzibah was just drunk enough not to question him, but she jumped backwards, the locket bouncing merrily on her chest, and her hand started fanning in a furious pace.

"Oh my _lord_," she wheezed out, looking a bit frightful.

"So you see," Harry continued slyly. "The locket was supposed to be passed down to me, as it has been from father to son, ever since Slytherin's time... But then, it was lost..."

"But you are a _Potter_," Mrs Smith interrupted in a shrill voice. "Potters have never been known to have Slytherin blood. How come..."

"But I am not a true Potter, Hepzibah," Harry whispered. "I am from the future, remember. I got the gift of Parseltongue from my mother's side. See, my father was a Potter, but my _mother_..."

Hepzibah was nodding importantly, swallowing every word with an eagerness that made this _oh so easy. _"Your mother had Slytherin blood," she concluded, fondling the locket between her fat fingers. Harry simply nodded and she let out a deep sigh, almost sorrowful. "I could give it to you, Harry, as a gift."

He almost leaped up from the stone bench in joy, but thankfully managed to control himself in time.

"But," Hepzibah said, a glint sparkling mischievously in her eyes. "I do want something in return. You see, Harry, I have been so lonely... So lonely ever since my dear husband passed away. And you have been so good to me. I confess I have had fantasies, I will not deny it, fantasies about you and your friend... Well, when you showed up at my porch, I thought I was going to go mad with desire... Still... I realize, no matter how great a fortune I have, you would never take me for the money, you're not that kind of person. I know, but an old lady can wish, can't she?"

Harry suddenly felt sick by the mere thought about what old Mrs Smith might have been fantasizing _about_, but scolded his expression into one of polite curiosity – with great difficulty.

"Well," Hepzibah continued slyly, fondling the locked absent-mindedly. "I can give you this... In return for, let's say... a _favour_."

* * *

_A/N: Monster chapter is monstrous... (The longest one so far...) I have changed the plot line for this so many times. And the name for it... Actually had to split it in two as well, so there's more coming, believe me. As soon as I get it out of my mind, that is. _

_Hope you all had a great Christmas, if you celebrate it, that is. _

_As always, thank you for reading, following and favouring the story (and me, which is like wow. AWESOME!). And also, thank you so much for the reviews, they really help me stay on track and work out the kinks in the story. _

_Until next time! Mischief managed! _


	8. To Let It Fall

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Eight

_To Let It Fall_

* * *

Harry watched the little house-elf Hokey guide her wobbly mistress through the corridor, leading them out of the castle and far, _far_, away from him. Thankfully. _God_, that woman had no shame!

She had actually had the nerve to order to let her _kiss him_ in return for the locket. And it hadn't been a short, acceptable peck on the lips either – _no_, but a deep, slimy kiss that felt as if a slug, drenched in alcohol, had suddenly crawled its way into his mouth and...

Harry gave an involuntary shudder and conjured a glass of water with an off-handed flick of his wand, gulping down its contents greedily in hope it would wash away the disgusting taste. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his dress robes and grimaced uglily as a long trail of powdery blush and lipstick instantly covered it. Brilliant... He instantly threw down another glass of water and cast a wordless _tergeo_ at his sleeve. He would no doubt have nightmares for weeks after this. Perhaps he was scarred for life...

"Thirsty?"

Harry startled as his best friend came up behind him and damned Tom to all the seven levels of hell for his joyous tone of voice in all his misery. Happy bastard.

"Not particularly..." Harry stated, gulped down the last of his drink and vanished the glass.

"Why, you look angry..." Tom mused, piercing him with a critical look. "You didn't fail, did you?"

Harry simply held up the locket for the other to see, and it was immediately snatched away by Tom's greedy hands to be examined thoroughly.

"Let's go see what it does," Harry decided and promptly made his way to the Slytherdor room, keeping up a furious pace that made his cloak sweep dramatically behind him, not doubting for once second Tom was following in his footsteps. Harry distracted himself with the thought about finally finding out what the secret of the chamber was, and actually found himself instantly feeling much less nauseated.

When they arrived at the room, however, it was crammed with people as it seemed two of the duelling clubs were having a tournament of sorts.

"How come we weren't invited?" Harry mused quietly, but Tom only gave an absent-minded hum in response, still very busy investigating the Slytherin locket to pay any real attention to him.

"Come on," Harry said, rolling his eyes and led them to an alcove further down the corridor which he knew had a poorly hidden fireplace. They had decided not to use it unnecessarily since it was so easy for someone to happen upon them as it was located in a well used corridor. Harry wasn't in the mood for being careful at the moment, and Tom was far too involved in other matters to really pay any attention to where they were heading.

Realizing they hadn't brought any floo powder, Harry took out his wand and to summon the little pouch he had hidden behind one of the curtains in the Slytherdor room. It zoomed into his hand, hopefully unnoticed by the duellers inside the room, and he immediately took out a pinch of powder and threw it into the waiting hearth.

He hissed his way into the depths of the castle, passed through the snake ornamented entrance and stalked into the chamber itself. He heard Tom's footsteps echo his own from behind him, and determinedly kept up his pace until he reached the enormous feet of the Salazar Slytherin statue. There, he came to a stop and looked around at the cave walls above him, wrinkling his nose at the way the water kept flowing down the walls as if the roof was about to cave in on them any second. He knew this not to be true, however, Slytherin must have ensured his secret was safe and sound unless he wanted it buried under deep water – and how likely was that when he'd made a deathly basilisk guard it for over 900 years?

Speaking of the basilisk, Harry saw no sign of it, despite his frantic eyes searching every cranny of the chamber for it. It would be bloody _disastrous _if it suddenly caught them unaware and killed them with a simple look into their eyes. Perhaps it was lying in the deep pools of water? Could basilisks hold their breath for long? Could they breath underwater? There were some breeds of snakes that lived underwater, wasn't there? Harry didn't really know that much about serpents. Perhaps Tom...

"Hey Tom," Harry said, turning around to face the other, who took his merry time walking across the length of the chamber. "You don't think the basilisk will creep up on us suddenly, do you?"

"What?" Tom said, still distracted by the locket in his hands, before he finally snatched his greedy eyes away from it and met Harry's gaze. "No. She's most likely out in the pipes, hunting. Otherwise, she's resting in her lair. She won't come out here unless she's summoned..."

"You know quite a bit about this," Harry said, not really surprised. Trust Tom to obsess over something grand, deadly and with great history. It was like lighting a lamp outside at night and expect the moths to leave it alone.

"Of course I do," he scoffed, looking at his friend as if he thought him the stupidest idiot in the entire universe. "I've tried coming here at all sorts of hours – she's never here."

"You've been here a lot, then?" Harry couldn't help but ask in a slightly accusing tone, a bit miffed Tom had decided against bringing him with.

"Well, one could say I suddenly found myself with a lot of time on my hands, with my closest friend rudely ignoring me all of a sudden, and all that..."

"Yeah yeah, poor old you, _Tommy_. Try playing a different tune, will you? I've said I'm sorry, like a thousand times already. Just, drop it..."

"My, you _are _angry, aren't you?" Tom exclaimed with an odd grin. "What, the _man-eater_ didn't do anything to you... did she?"

Harry narrowed his eyes dangerously in response and Tom's grin slowly sank away, morphing into an irritated scowl.

"Did she?" he asked in a low voice, coloured with a slight tint of viciousness.

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry stated tonelessly and nodded in direction of the inscription on the floor, right between the enormous statue's feet. "Go on then," he prompted.

"What did she do to you?" Tom growled in a dangerous tone, and Harry raised his eyebrows, utterly unimpressed and not in the mood for games.

"I. Don't. Want. To. _Talk_. About. It." he spelled out slowly, making the other narrow his eyes further before abruptly turning around.

"Fine!" he snapped and stalked over to the revealing-of-secrets spot. Harry let out a short little huff of breath and followed him, doing his best to calm down and focus on the task at hand. A warm feeling of relief was battling the scorching anger in his chest, inspired by the fact that Tom had finally come to terms with the fact he had to give Harry some privacy then and again.

_Or_, it could be he was so excited about finding out the secret of the chamber that he couldn't be bothered to push any harder at this particular moment, Harry thought a bit bitterly.

He soon got distracted from his thoughts as the locket was laid, face down, into its proper place on the stone floor and there was a sudden snapping sound, as if a key had been turned in its lock. Then, a rumbling sound was heard, echoing between the walls, as the floor began to shift, a triangular shape out of dark grey stone arising from where the locket was previously lying.

The stone pyramid started spinning, cracking open as if a budded flower, its petals slowly opening up to let in the morning rays of sun. A poisonous green light from within it was growing stronger and stronger as the petals slowly twisted themselves all the way down to the floor, leaving a rectangular shape behind – a pedestal. Then, the rumbling sound suddenly stopped.

But it was not over yet – out of the top piece of the pedestal an emerald crystal was emerging, slowly travelling upwards so that it came to hover above the stone shape it had been born out of. There it came to rest, the sickly green shine it omitted growing in intensity, and everything fell silent.

The two of them simply stood rooted on the spot for a while, simply staring in awe at the beautiful crystal that had been revealed to them. It was about as long as a hand, and as thick as a wrist. It was formed into the shape of an icicle, one end pointed, the other rounded. And, it was positively _reeking_ of powerful magic.

Tom suddenly sprang forwards and raised his hands to caress the very air around the crystal. He didn't touch it though, for which Harry was grateful – one never knew what would happen touching a magical artefact without checking for booby-traps and curses first. Besides, moving it at all before they knew exactly what it did was nothing less than stupid.

"Harry, you've got to _feel_ this," Tom breathed out and quickly snatched hold of the front of Harry's robes, efficiently pulling him closer to himself and the crystal.

Harry barely had the time to say, "I don't think I should..." before something started stirring beneath his skin, travelling to the front of his mind like a lightening bolt emerging from a clear blue sky. His scar started screaming with pain and suddenly he was pushed away from his own mind, standing helpless as Voldemort emerged.

As if in slow motion, Harry saw his own hands reach out towards the crystal, feeling the powerful magic that was positively shining out of it.

And then, something shifted in his eyes, something changed and suddenly he could _see_. He could actually see magic! Like little specks of dust dancing in a ray of light, but unbelievably golden, the magic wove itself around the crystal, and all around the pedestal, creating a net of swirling particles that danced beautifully in the ominous green light surrounding them.

Was this the kind of wonders one would see once he reached the point when his eyes shifted into its opposite colour? Was this what Grandma Bella saw? Was this what Professor Dumbledore saw? Was this what Voldemort had seen?

It was beautiful.

"Beautiful," came out of Harry's mouth, and he didn't know whether it had been himself or Voldemort who had whispered it.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Tom breathed out next to them, infuriatingly keeping his eyes on the damned crystal, completely oblivious to the fact he was standing next to an evil, psychopathic _murderer_.

"It holds... so much power," Harry's mouth mouthed, and this time he knew it had been Voldemort and not himself speaking.

"It does," Tom agreed, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in humour. "I wasn't sure you would notice..." he said in a teasing tone of voice and finally turned to look at him.

His eyes widened comically, his entire body frozen in place as if hit with a _petrificus totalus_. They stood staring at each other for a while, Voldemort ever so slowly forming Harry's mouth into a devious smirk.

Then, Tom suddenly surprised them both by throwing himself at Harry's body, cradling it close and slipping his hands into the dark, rowdy locks of hair to massage the scalp in that very way he knew Harry liked more than anything else. "I'm so glad I'm here to see this with you, _Harry_," he said in a tone that absolutely reeked of affection, and Voldemort reeled back inside of Harry's mind. Fleeing to the depths of where he came from, spitting and spluttering viciously at the warm feelings of _love_ that had filled up Harry's insides as a result of Tom's actions.

And just like that, he was free again, and everything turned back to normal. He could breathe properly again, and the magic around them once again slipped out of focus, turning invisible to his eyes. The pain was gone.

"How did you know how to do that?" he asked in a scratchy voice, slightly muffled from his mouth's position against Tom's clothed shoulder.

Hearing Harry was back, Tom took him by the shoulders and studied his face for a couple of moments. Then he smiled, and let go. "If _he_ is anything like _me_... let's just say gestures of affection and intimacy aren't really my thing."

"They're not?" Harry countered in a scandalized tone, going for the joking approach to mask the fact that his heart was beating against his ribcage as if it was its own personal bongo drum. "Well, I guess this means the end of our usual hugs of comfort, then... Wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable..."

"That will not be necessary," Tom stated calmly and turned back to the crystal, hovering his hands over it, moving around its surface in slow motions as if feeling for its _aura_ or something.

"No? That is good..." Harry said lamely, swallowed against the dryness in his throat and took an awkward step backwards. "I should keep at a distance, I think... unless we want company again." Tom just hummed distractedly and didn't pay him any attention in favour of casting a few experimental spells on the hovering crystal, probably trying to figure out what kind of wards were protecting it.

Harry watched for a couple of minutes, but soon grew bored, letting his eyes travel away from the other's ministrations and down to the pedestal that had emerged from out of the cold stone floor. It was elegantly cut, he thought, taking a careful step closer to get a better look at it. Its texture was firm, obviously, but at the same time it looked soft. It was shining in a similar way to the surface of the pools around them, as if it had been polished carefully by human hands. But then again, there was something off about it, a roughness about it that didn't make sense. Making it look uneven. Irregular.

He took another tentative step forwards and suddenly realized what it was – its entire form was covered with engraved ancient runes!

"What does it say?" he asked absent-mindedly, and Tom jerked as if in surprise, possibly so deep in thought he had forgotten he wasn't alone.

"What?" he asked in a befuddled way, and Harry smiled at the endearing expression of pure confusion that marked his friend's face.

"The pedestal is covered in ancient runes," he explained, and Tom snapped his gaze downwards, instantly falling down in a crouch to examine the wonders in front of him with a greedy expression. He flicked his wand once and the runes instantly lit up with a clear blue light, making them stand out against the dark surface of the stone in which they were engraved.

"Unbelievable," Tom breathed out, tracing the shapes of the runes with the tips of his fingers, his eyes working furiously from side to side, his mind probably in full process of translating them. Harry tried, very hard, to stay patient, but after spending several minutes in silence, staring at the other's hunched back, he couldn't take it any more.

"What does it say?" he prompted, and Tom turned to look at him, smiling, but with an impatient wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"It's the history of Parseltongue."

"_What?_" Harry exclaimed in disbelief. "There's actually... My God! That's... well, brilliant."

Tom grinned up at him, his eyes sparkling with excitement, before he turned back around and started reading out loud.

"In the ancient times, before the time of wands, and when dragons were still a wild breed, a young woman in the far east transformed herself into a serpent of the waters. She lived like that for decades to come, completely at ease with her new form. The beauty of her slim body, and the brilliant shine of her green scales soon attracted other serpents to join her in joyous dance. She lived happily like that, and conceived many children-"

"_What?_" Harry exclaimed in sudden disbelief, rudely interrupting but too outraged to feel apologetic about it. "She had _children_ with the other snakes?"

"Your level of understanding normal human speech astonishes me," Tom deadpanned.

"But," Harry argued, "that's just... nasty! She became an animagus and suddenly decided to have sex with _snakes_?"

"It happens from time to time," Tom said with a great sigh, casting an annoyed glance Harry's way over his shoulder. "People get used to behaving like animals in their animagus forms and some things just become natural to them... It's not all that uncommon. Now, will you let me continue with the story?"

Harry felt a bit nauseous at the thought of what some people decided to do with their magic, but kept his peace, too curious to interrupt Tom again and risk not hearing the story at all.

So, Tom continued: "and conceived many children that turned out healthy young serpents, and the breed prospered. Then, one day came a flock of grand eagles, searching for feed: attacking the pride of serpents, killing and eating them all. To save her life, the woman in snake form transformed back into a human being and the great eagles took flight, frightened by her superior form. But alas it was too late, her family was gone.

"Filled with sorrow, the woman kept on living as a human once more, finding too much pain in turning into a serpent after the brutal slaughter of her kin. Nine moons later, she gave birth to seven children, who all turned out in human form. Six of the children were of male descent, and were named Nagendra, Sanjaya, Sanjiv, Shrivatsa, Vasanta and Nagal. The seventh of the snake-born children was of female descent, and was named Nagini, after the human woman that bore her.

"The seven children grew up to possess incredible magical power, and their wild inheritance let them speak the tongue of serpents with ease, becoming the masters of many a magical beast with serpent ancestors. The male children grew up into strong, healthy men, and soon took wives to continue the line of powerful half-breeds. But, to their great disappointment, they soon found out their human women did not bear children with the ability of the snakes. That power would forever be lost in the mixing of blood with other human beings."

Tom took a short break, nodded to himself and shuffled over to the next side of the pedestal, where the continuation of the story must be written. He soon continued:

"The great tribes of sorcerers soon found out about these powerful half-breeds that could control the most vicious of all beasts – even the king of serpents himself. Full of vicious jealousy they raced to the wetlands where the serpent tribe lived and fought them to the point where all had perished but one – the lone female child, Nagini.

"But, she was a clever one, and summoned all the serpent creatures loyal to her, making them attack the humans who had dared to kill her family. When all had perished except one, the brave and mighty chieftain himself, she ordered her servants to leave him be. Under the watchful eyes of her loyal beast, she mated with this human, and there conceived the children who would be the beginning of a new line of children of the great serpent.

"When she was done, she tore his heart out of his chest and let its blood flow over one of the magical crystals that had come to her from the almighty Ocean God. She then cut out her own tongue and mixed her blood with that of her children's father, sealing their fate in red. Inside of the crystal, the ability of the snake tongue festered and was concealed with the help of magic, to ever remain in the blood line of the mother of serpents, Nagini."

Tom moved to the third side of the pedestal, and began reciting almost at once, clearly eager to find out the rest of the story.

"Searching for a sanctuary where she could safely bring forth the children of her blood, Nagini travelled the great river north, until she happened upon a tribe of magical humans who immediately took her as their queen, worshipping her and the wondrous power she possessed. The mother of serpents soon gave birth to two children, a boy and a girl. The boy was named Nagal, after her most beloved brother, and the girl was named Nagini, after herself and the woman who bore her.

"The twins and their descendants were all graced with the affinity of Parseltongue, as the magical humans named it, and they and their descendants were all admired as a superior race amongst the humans that they lived with.

"Many generations later, in a time when the children of Nagini had spread all over the far east continent, a powerful wizard named Jun Li gathered a mighty army to wipe out all of the sorcerers with the affinity for Parseltongue. The belief in this part of the world transformed into a poisonous lie, one that told that the serpent children were much too powerful, their breed unnatural and against the will of the gods.

"One by one, they were taken out, and the ones quick enough to escape hastened to the western part of the world, where they would once again find peace and admiration amongst the magical humans. There, they soon encountered other troubles, as the men and women of the west found their wild ways so foreign that they dictated that one who would lie with a Parselmouth would face judgement and be sent to the deepest parts of inferno. And so, very few of the serpent race survived, and most of those who did interbred with each other and soon turned the seed of their race sour."

Tom stopped once again, and quickly moved to the last side of the stone pedestal, skimming the script over for a couple of seconds, before he lifted his head and looked straight into Harry's questioning eyes.

"This is a memorial, written by Salazar Slytherin himself."

"Well, go on then!" Harry prompted impatiently, and Tom smirked back at him before doing as he was told.

"These past centuries have not been kind on the Parselmouth race. The Muggles with their ways of Christianity have found any living human with the ability to speak to serpents to be allied with their devil. They have hunted us down, decapitated us, burned us at the stake and sunk us under deep water until our last breath left us. They have stolen babies from out of their fathers' arms and they have stuck their swords into the stomachs of our old, killing them in their beds.

"These men and women are too far gone to be reasoned with, they are of evil and never to be trusted. One that associates with the likes of them shall be forever shunned by the true magicians of the pure blood, who are all knowledgeable enough to know we can not live alongside such beasts.

"The crystal of our ancestry will prevail inside of this chamber, even after the death of me and my family. It is never to be removed, and never to be destroyed – for with its death will the affinity for Parseltongue be lost forever. I have left it here to keep it safe even after the point when I have perished and can not protect it any longer. I have concealed it well in a chamber only my kin can find, hidden under a lock only the heirs of my blood can open with their key, protected it with a serpent so fierce only my true blood can command it.

"And should one day come, my most beloved heir, when the end is near and the Muggles have won too much ground. Do not hesitate! Use the gift I have given to you and command the great serpents of the world to protect every magical being in it. We must stay strong and prevail at all cost.

"May the pure blood run strong in you. Signed, Salazar Slytherin."

They must have stood in complete silence for an eternity after that, mulling things over in their minds, studying the crystal they now knew the complete history of, taking a fresh look around at the grand chamber Slytherin had built to protect what was left of the great Parselmouths before him.

Harry found it hard to wrap his mind around all this new information, having found out something that he hadn't even dreamed of before, but now when he finally knew it he wondered why he hadn't thought about it until now.

Of course there would be a reason for there to be Parselmouths at all, of course there would be a reason there were so few of them. Of course there would be a reason every descendant of Slytherin ended up with the Parseltongue ability. When two people had kids their children ended up with a mix of the abilities and looks from their parents – a mixing of genes. That every single child in the line of Slytherin ended up Parselmouths was indeed curious. And now, without knowing beforehand he wanted to, Harry _knew_ why. Because of this crystal.

Suddenly, interrupting Harry's musings, Tom hummed quietly to himself and started to pace back and forwards in front of the grand statue of his ancestor. "What?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows in question.

"It's just... Something about this is bothering me..." Tom said in a toneless voice, still pacing with his right hand clutching his own chin.

"_Something_ is bothering you about this?" Harry questioned, thinking about the whole ordeal about the bestiality that turned people into Parselmouths in the first place, as well as the fact that Nagini II had raped a man and then proceeded to rip out his heart, _and her own tongue_, so that the Parselmouth ability would prevail for all eternity. It was just... sick! "I can think of a heckload of things about this that bothers me, that's for sure..." he muttered to himself.

"No, but you see," Tom continued as if the other hadn't said anything at all, "there is a great gap between the time when the Parselmouths arrived in Europe and the time when Slytherin wrote this memorial. See, I've read about the war on Parselmouths in Asia, led by one of the first Dark Lords, Jun Li – it was around the end of the fourth century. The Parselmouths must have come to Europe around the years when Vortigern ruled Britain, in the years of Merlin... And Slytherin didn't create the Chamber until in the tenth century. What happened between those points in time? If the Parselmouths didn't fit in here, did they carry on to Africa or perhaps over the ocean to North or South America? Or to the south and Australia? Or did they all stay in a tightly knit group based in Europe?

"And then, there is also Herpo the Foul who lived in ancient Greece, in the years of 300 BC... Was he a descendant of the Asian Parselmouths as well, and if he was, how did he end up in Greece?

"It's infuriating... How can we be so sure _we_ are the only Parselmouths left? Perhaps there are more of us somewhere? Perhaps some of those who lived in Asia survived, or returned after a couple of years when things had settled?"

"I'm not technically a _real_ Parselmouth, you know..." Harry said, but was ignored once again.

"And what do we do if there are more of us? Do we make contact? Do we tell them about this crystal? Do they already know about it?"

"Why bother about it right now?" Harry questioned, crossing his arms over his chest. He was beginning to really appreciate how freezing it was down in the chamber. "We don't even know if _they _exist... Come on, let's go to bed, it's late."

"Do you _ever_ stop and think about things?" Tom asked in a snide tone, but turned to the pedestal nonetheless and hissed for it to _close_. Immediately, the glowing green crystal started sinking back into the stone where it came from, the petal-like shapes emerged from out of the floor, travelling upwards to create the pyramid of stone they once formed, before it all sank back down into the stone floor, coming to a complete stop with a dull _thud_. Left in its place was only the inscription on the floor and the Slytherin locket still lying face down in its lock.

Tom carefully picked it up, closed it and put it around his neck, the chain long enough for the locket itself to come to rest in height with his heart. The two of them then started making way to the fireplace. That was when Harry suddenly remembered:

"Oh, I completely forgot! What did Professor Slughorn say? Did he fall for your impeccable charms and the crystallized pineapple you gifted him?"

Tom snorted silently and rolled his eyes before answering. "Of course he fell for my charms. Completely sold, that fool."

Harry laughed lightly and shook his head as if in disbelief. "The pineapple works every single time, huh? One would think he'd seen though that particular trick by now..."

"Well, that's because he's an oblivious idiot, obviously," Tom concluded in a no-business sort of voice, and Harry couldn't help but laugh right out at that, his merriment echoing between the high walls of the chamber as they walked out of it.

"But, what did he say about the Horcruxes, then? Did he know about them?"

"Oh, he knew about them alright," Tom confirmed with a wicked smirk. "Although, he liked to play a game of him being all innocent and playing the good teacher who only told his student what he wanted to know because of academical curiosity... what a fool. Anyway, he couldn't tell me all that much, but he _did_ know this: one has to kill in order to create them. And what more is, it is completely possible to create several of them. For all we know, Voldemort could have split his soul into infinity."

"Kill, huh?" Harry concluded in a defeated tone. There went his plans on ridding himself of the bane of his existence. At least in _that_ particular way... "Well, we're not doing _that_, that's for sure."

"Not even if it will keep you alive?" Tom questioned in an odd tone of voice.

"No!" Harry stated firmly, and dug his hand into the flowerpot on the mantelpiece, taking a handful of Floo Powder, readying himself to throw it into the hearth. Before he could do it, however, Tom grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Just a second," he said, gesturing for Harry to step back while he dug something out of his pocket, rapping at it with his wand, instantly making it bigger.

"What are you doing, walking around with _that _in your pocket, Tom?"

He watched in confusion as Tom held up the painting in front of him, flicked his wand and levitated it into place on top of the fireplace, fastening it there with a simple sticking charm. Harry Potter looked down on them from his new spot over the hearth of the Chamber of Secrets, his eyes twinkling secretively, his mouth smiling widely.

"I simply like to look at it sometimes..." Tom said in that weird voice again, and Harry turned to frown suspiciously at him.

"Are you really that self-centred that you need to keep your own work in your pocket so that you can admire your _fantastic_ skills at all times? Or, is it perhaps because the painting is of _poor old me_?"

"It's to admire my own work, naturally," Tom scoffed, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Alright..." Harry said in a hesitant tone, turning to look up at the painting itself. It was quite well done, he though, although the man inside of the frame seemed _a bit _too happy in his opinion. "Why are we putting it _here _of all places. There is nobody here for it to spy on. That was the use you wanted to make of it, wasn't it?"

"It's not all it can do," Tom said, grabbing a handful of Floo Powder from out of the flowerpot. "It has a twin painting, and it is possible to travel between the two paintings... Well, it _will be_ as soon as I install the other one somewhere..."

"So... we will be able to enter the chamber from anywhere if we want to? At any time? That's wicked!" Harry exclaimed and smiled up at his other self, looking down at them from his higher position. Then, to Harry's horror, he _winked_.

"Tom..." Harry growled out. "_Why does it wink? _When have I ever _winked at anyone_?"

Instead of answering, Tom threw his handful of floo powder into the fireplace and made his escape in a rush of green flames. Harry kept his eyes on the painting in front of him, and actually reeled back when the man in it suddenly giggled, _giggled_, and _blew him a kiss. _

"TOOOOOOOM!" Harry raged, although he technically knew the other couldn't hear him, and threw his own handful of floo powder into the hearth to take out his revenge...

* * *

Unbelievable.

Here he was, minding his own business, having a great time at the party the members of The Severers had thrown him and Tom once all the N.E.W.T. level tests were over and done with, and then something uncalled for like this just _happened_.

They were all in the Slytherpuff room, dancing and having a great time, while a couple of guys from the music club rocked their world. Harry hadn't had this much fun in _months_, and he'd been perfectly fine jumping up and down to the music together with Silas and Alphard, when suddenly Romulus had swooped in on them.

And now, he was crushing Harry to death in a firm embrace, weeping on his shoulder – clearly drunk, that bastard – apologizing for all his stupidity all year, how he'd blamed the war on Harry, which Harry had to agree had been bloody stupid in the first place. But now, apparently, he was sorry and wanted redemption. And who was Harry to deny him when he was so clearly suffering from guilt ridden thoughts?

Assuring the distressed man on his shoulder it was alright, that he didn't need to apologize, that it was all in the past, he finally managed to escape and stealthily slipped through the mirror on the far off wall and into the identical room, only with a table, where they had had dinner before the partying part of the party started.

There, sitting opposite each other, drinking from out of huge goblets of Butterbeer (the strong kind, Harry noticed with a grimace) sat Alfred and Tom. They looked like they were in some deep sort of conversation, so Harry figured he'd just slip past them without interrupting. Before he got very far, however, Tom's arm shot out and hauled him into his lap.

"There you are," he exclaimed and wrapped his arms around Harry's stomach in an odd sort of embrace. _What was it with all people wanting to hug him all of a sudden?_

"Yeah, here I am..." he said lamely, trying not to let it show how uncomfortable yet completely content he was sitting this close to Tom. "Was actually on my way out to get a bit of fresh air..."

"The party's no good in there?" Alfred questioned with a wide grin as if he'd made a spectacular joke.

"Oh, it's all good," Harry said, smiling back. "It's just that Romulus suddenly decided I was a decent guy again and wanted to hug the life out of me... And, er, well... Silas and Al seemed to want some privacy..."

"Privacy?" Tom asked incredulously.

"Yeah, you know... The music changed into that slow kind, and they got really close to one another and tried to devour each other's faces from the looks of it... Was a bit cute actually, you know, in a sickening way..."

"They've started snogging now?" Alfred questioned in a tone that suggested somebody had rudely stolen his Christmas. "Bloody brilliant," he muttered and gulped down his Butterbeer in a furious haste.

Harry raised his eyebrows in wonder. Well, he had had his suspicions about Alfred being jealous of Silas after all... Was he in love with Alphard, or something? "Why does it bother you so much?" he decided to ask, in case he was wrong.

"Why does it bother – oh my lord... Haven't you seen what has been going on around here?" Alfred questioned in a rough voice, his face turning into an odd shade of purple. "It's all _them_ now! I'm completely shut out of their little circle of _fashion shows_ and _knitting parties_. Silsel never has any time for me any more, he's always with his bloody boyfriend. Well, what about me, huh? It's not fair. I'm supposed to be his best friend, and he goes and do something like this. Unbelievable!"

Harry just looked at the other with wide eyes. Behind him, Tom was snickering quietly into Harry's shirt, apparently finding this very funny for some odd reason. Or, perhaps he was just drunk...

"I thought Aby was your best friend," Harry said, reaching out a hand to temporarily steal Tom's goblet of Butterbeer.

"Aby... Yes, alright, that might be true... But he's not here either, is he?" Harry silently shook his head and took a sip of the warm liquid in front of him. It tasted quite nice, he judged, and took another, bigger gulp. "He's currently busy freaking _making out _with my cousin, can you believe it, the audacity?"

In utter outrage, Harry lost control of his mouth and promptly spat out the Butterbeer he had intended to swallow back into the goblet. "_What_?" he exclaimed in amused disbelief. "Serena and Abraxas? _Really_? Wow, who would have thought?"

"Harry," came a dangerous hiss from behind him. "Did you just _spit_ into my goblet?"

Going pale, Harry slowly sat down the goblet in his hands and turned to look into the glaring eyes of his best friend. "Sorry?" he said, chewing on his lip in apprehension. "I didn't mean to – honest!"

"That is unforgivable behaviour, you know, and should be severely punished..."

"Look, I said I was sorry-" Harry began, and then blanched as Tom's hands came down on his sides, tickling to the point Harry actually fell to the ground in both surprise and painful tickle cramps.

"You utter bastard," he breathed out, looking up from his position on the floor with tears from laughing still shining in the corners of his eyes. Tom only looked down at him with an odd sort of dazed expression on his face. Alfred, on the other hand, was laughing uncontrollably at Harry's misfortune.

A dark red flush of embarrassment colouring his cheeks, Harry hurriedly stood up and made for the door. "I'll get you back for that," he promised and pushed the wooden door open.

"Wait!" Tom exclaimed in sudden hurry, picking up the goblet in one hand and supporting himself on the backrest of his chair with the other as he stood up. "You're not leaving without me," he stated and sneaked a peek into his own goblet, went a bit green because of what he saw floating around in it, and promptly sat it back down onto the table. He then strode over to Harry's side on wobbly legs, grinning widely as if he'd accomplished the impossible.

"Oh, come on!" Alfred groaned from the table. "You can't leave me too! Who am I supposed to drown my sorrows with now, do you expect?"

"Well, Romulus looked like he wanted company," Harry suggested wriggling his eyebrows. "Just don't blame me if he decides hugging just _isn't enough_..."

Alfred looked confused at first, but then realization seemed to dawn on him. "I'm not a homosexual, if that's what you're insinuating, Potter," he said in a firm voice.

"Whatever you say, _Avery_," Harry responded and snickered amusedly at the other's flushed cheeks as he and Tom walked out the door and left the wild partying behind,.

They walked in comfortable silence for quite a while, finally finding themselves on the balcony of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower where they finally could have some much needed fresh air.

Harry drew in a deep breath and turned his gaze upwards to the twinkling stars above, smiling widely as he caught sight of the constellation Draco. _Was it possible Serena and Abraxas were the future grandparents of Harry's most hated classmate from the 90's? _

He let out a big, content sigh, and turned to look at Tom, who stood leaning against the balcony railing with a soft expression on his face. "What a great night," Harry said and went over to stand at his side, looking ahead into the Forbidden Forest, thinking he actually spotted the flicker of something moving inside of it.

"Good things happened?" Tom asked with an amused tinge to his voice.

"Yeah, I had loads of fun. Except for that part when Romulus decided to hug me, that is... Well, at least nobody has decided to _kiss me_ this time, so that's good."

"Excuse me?" Tom said, not sounding the least bit amused any longer. "What did you just say? Who kissed you?"

"Oh, that..." Harry began awkwardly, realizing his mistake. "Er, well... I don't wanna talk about it, actually. Never mind I sad anything..."

"Don't want to talk about it?" Tom asked in a low voice. "But, that's exactly what you said when I asked you about..." Then, realization struck him and Harry silently cursed Tom's excellent deduction skills. "She didn't..." he stated in an ice cold voice, and Harry pointedly decided to avoid the furious eyes directed at him at any cost.

"Well, I sort of had to let her, you know..." he said, feeling very uncomfortable. "It wasn't that I _wanted to – _believe me, I didn't!" he said and gave a violent shudder at the memories of his last encounter with Mrs Smith and her puffy lips of doom. "But if I hadn't let her we wouldn't have gotten the locket, so... there we are."

"You could have stunned her, snatched the locket and then _obliviated_ her. You could have _fucking_ killed her!"

"I'm not killing people, Tom," Harry exclaimed in an outraged voice, finally turning to look at the man at his side. "And we both agreed _obliviating _her was an unnecessarily risk, since she would have forgotten about how the locket disappeared after that night and would have proceeded to report it missing. We went though this, we had a _plan-_"

"Yes but _the plan_ wasn't to let her _fucking _get her lips all over you."

"I just did what I _had to do_, I got the work done. Alright?" Harry pierced Tom with an intent look, trying to figure him out. "Why does this bother you so much? It's done!"

Without a word of response, Tom started pacing back and forwards, the look on his face one of utmost fury.

"What the _hell_ is your problem?" Harry decided to yell once he couldn't take the suspense any longer, and Tom abruptly turned to face him, his eyes positively sparkling with anger.

"What is _my _problem? What is _your_ problem, Harry? Letting all those women do all that they please with you."

"_What?_" Harry spluttered in disbelief. "What _women_?"

"The _man-eater_," Tom said, holding up a finger as if counting. Raising another one, he looked pointedly at Harry as if he'd magically understand what he meant. "That _Prince _idiot you have hanging all over you all the time."

"That is two women, Tom. Two – and one of them is actually my _freaking girlfriend_!"

Tom looked indecisive and Harry took a careful step forwards, holding his hands up in surrender. "I just don't understand what you are so angry about... What's wrong?"

"It's just not fair," Tom whispered, avoiding Harry's eyes, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture.

"What isn't fair?" Harry wondered in a soft tone of voice, coming a little closer still.

"It isn't fair that those two get to kiss you. That they can do all they want to you, when I can't."

Harry froze in his steps, coming to a complete standstill. The only body part of his still functioning being his disobedient heart that was compensating for all the other organs and pumping away at such a hurried pace Harry was starting to fear he would suffer from a sudden heart attack.

Surely, he'd heard wrong? Tom wanted to kiss him – no, he couldn't! That wasn't possible! That just couldn't happen! It was just wishful thinking, he must have heard wrong.

It was just his own mind playing tricks on him, the alcohol fuzzing up his brain. Tom wasn't _in love_ with him! That was just a one sided thing Harry had going on that Tom could never find out, because it was a well kept _secret_. And it certainly wasn't reciprocated! Tom didn't like him like _that_, it was just him. It was just Harry being in love with Tom for years and years, well aware of the fact his best friend could never feel the same way about him, because – well, because it was _Tom_. And Tom didn't feel that way about _anyone_. He couldn't! It was just wishful thinking! It must be!

And now, it just wasn't fair, because now Tom was looking at him with his dark green eyes that seemed _oh so_ unsure of themselves all of a sudden. Harry just melted into a soft heap of mush at the receiving end of that look – and it wasn't fair! It was evil magic, working against him, making him believe that _perhaps_ there was a slim possibility he had in fact _not _heard wrong, but right, and Tom actually _wanted _to kiss him...

"You're staring," Tom concluded in a quiet voice and Harry startled violently, feeling his own cheeks heat up despite the coldness of the night, and hurried to whip around to look out at the Forbidden Forest and safely _away_ from Tom and his _very kissable lips_.

"Sorry," he said in an oddly deep voice. "Sorry, I must have heard wrong. Could you repeat that?"

Soundlessly, Tom suddenly came up behind him – perhaps he had apparated – and stood so close behind Harry's back his breathing caused the hairs on the back of his head to stir restlessly. "I said – It isn't fair that the likes of them can have you, when I can't."

"Oh..." Harry said, licking his lips nervously. "But, that's a bit different, see... They, er, actually want to... Surely, you don't..."

"Is that what you would like to believe?" Tom questioned in a toneless voice, completely devoid of feelings, making it impossible for Harry to conclude what he was thinking. Then, Tom's arms wrapped themselves around him from behind, trapping him in a loose embrace that hurt Harry to the core – because it was burning. Burning against his chest. Because he'd forbidden himself to want this.

"You're right," he whispered, barely audibly. "It's not fair... It's not fair that we feel that way..."

"_We?_" Tom whispered into his ear, disbelieving hopefulness colouring his voice. Harry's heart broke painfully. He sniffed, again and again, feeling tears of regret starting to flow out of his eyes.

"You can't have me, Tom. You can't," he said, his voice cracking awkwardly at the end. Tom's grip tightened.

"_Why?_"

"Because of Severus."

Tom went very still, so still in fact, Harry wondered if somebody had come up from behind them and shot a _petrificus totalus_ at his back.

"_Who?_" Tom asked in a dead cold voice of death.

"Eileen's son, Tom... I have to save him."

"Your demon of a girlfriend doesn't have a son, you idiot. There is no one for you to save."

"But there is!" Harry contradicted, nodding to himself to steel his resolution. "I have to make sure he is my son, I have to spare him the horrifying childhood he had... I _have to_... I owe it to him – he rescued me, he helped me. I can't just leave him. I... I have to make sure, have to save Eileen too, I... It just can't be us, Tom, I'm sorry..."

"I _hate it_ when you're being like this," Tom growled and grabbed a painful grip on Harry's hair, twisting it backwards in his hand. "Sacrificing yourself as if that is all you're good for... But it's not, you're wrong. You're so much more than that, Harry. You're _above_ them! They're _beneath_ you! They don't _deserve_ you, not like I do..."

"But I _have to save them,_" Harry argued, the volume of his voice finally rising above a whisper.

"No, _you don't_," Tom hissed furiously and Harry finally found the strength to rip himself free from the other's hold.

"YES I DO!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, knowing he must look hysterical. "If I don't, nothing will change. I know that now – thinking I could help them only by _telling _Eileen to stay away from that man... That's hardly enough, it won't matter! Nothing matters unless I am immediately involved – you said so yourself! You said so! Said I couldn't join the war because I could change the outcome of it! Oh! And what about my uncle, huh, he's dead now – did I help him? NO!

"And what about Lora?" Harry said, feeling his voice staring to waver to the point where he was almost choking. "Lora was shot down, right in front of me, and I couldn't do a thing – I just stood there. I just watched, I... I couldn't save her... I..."

Then, his body just gave in, not caring at all he didn't want to break down, it just did. And then, Tom was there, holding him up, stroking his back, cradling his head. Pressing their lips together.

Harry couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He just stood there, a frozen statue with a sledgehammering heart, not moving a muscle as Tom desperately tried to make him respond to the kiss.

But he couldn't. He couldn't give in. He had to remain firm, he had made up his mind. He would not break his resolve.

Neither would he pull away. He would always stay by Tom's side, no matter what. He would always love him, with all his heart, but he would never do anything about it. He would just stand there, be there, an anchor in a stormy sea.

And then, Tom pulled away, let go of him and fled. Back into the castle – not looking back once.

Harry's knees finally gave in, sinking him to the ground, as he let out a feral shout of agony and broke down in utter misery.

Above him, Draco twinkled merrily, the only witness who had seen how Harry had just let everything fall...

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for all the love! *hugs you* _

_Mischief managed! _


	9. What Words Can Not Defend

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Nine

_What Words Can Not Defend_

* * *

The twinkling constellation of Draco did not only behold Harry's and Tom's fall that night, but also the fall of the entire Dark Army that had taken a firm grip around the bigger part of Europe, and smaller parts of Asia.

On the night of the 10th of June 1945, Albus Dumbledore finally met his arch nemesis in a fierce duel, and eventually defeated Gellert Grindelwald, the Dark Lord. He was immediately sent away to trial, and it was dictated that he was to be imprisoned in his own tower of justice, Nurmengard, until the point of his demise.

And just like that, the war was over and all the British sorcerers could finally return home to their families.

In the Muggle world, the war ended too, and peace conquered the world once more. The British Muggles decided to sack their Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, replacing him with a man called Clement Attlee. The sorcerers followed their example – or perhaps it was the other way around? – and chose a new Minister for Magic for themselves: Evangeline Orpington. That meant Orpheus Melpomene, Serena's father, was relieved of his services and kindly, but firmly, escorted back to the Wizengamot where he once came from.

The celebration in Hogwarts castle seemed to have no end – not only were the examinations over and done with, but the war was too. They were completely and utterly free! And there was only one week left before the school term would be over and they would get to return home to their families.

While each and every one of the people around him was in heaven, feeling a rush of relief and soaring happiness, Harry was trapped in hell.

Ever since the night of his rejection of Tom he had been washed clean of all feelings of happiness he once possessed. Now, it was as if a Dementor had swooped in to constantly hover behind his back, never letting him feel anything other than the deep misery that filled him once he realized how wrong he had been.

For about two years now, Harry had known he was beyond all hope of getting rid of his deep affections for his best friend. He had finally caved in and accepted the fact he could not deny any longer: he was madly, and utterly, in love with Tom Riddle.

As soon as he'd realized it, he'd made a firm decision never to reveal that fact – to _anyone_. No one could know, not even Harry himself, for it was something that _never would happen_. There was no way, absolutely no way, Tom would reciprocate his feelings of love – _never_!

Tom felt many things towards him – but not _love_. He was possessive, affectionate, cruel, competitive and he cared for him. He took a sadistic pleasure in tormenting him in different ways. He liked holding onto him and sitting very close when the setting allowed it. But that was never meant in an intimate kind of way – it never _had been_ before.

Tom had been completely convinced that Harry was his grandchild. He had only held platonic feelings towards him. Harry had been certain of it!

Knowing all that, there had been no other choice for him but repress all his warm feelings towards the other and accept the fact it could never turn out the way he wished for it to.

This year, after the attack on Diagon Alley – after Lora's all too early death – Harry had made up his mind. It had been on the Hogwarts Express that he had come to the conclusion. His friends had all walked out on him and Tom had returned to remind him how little he could change things.

From that moment on, Harry had stopped kidding himself. He still remembered clear in his mind what Professor Dumbledore had told him just after he had accidentally travelled back in time:

"_You see, Harry, I believe you have something many a wizard would be greatly envious of, did they know. A purpose! Something that only you can do. _

"_You have the power to __change things! To know what's coming beforehand and change it for the better..."_

See, Harry had a purpose – he knew he did, and he felt he _needed_ to have one. He_ wanted_ to change things for the better. And in order to do so, he had to step up his game. He would have to quit his lazy acts and turn the tables on fate.

He would have to take things into his own hands.

And after coming to that conclusion, things had been very simple. His first mission had been to save Severus. In order to do that he would have to make Eileen accept him as her boyfriend, the next step would be to keep up the relationship to the point where she would want to spend the rest of her life with him – eliminating the looming threat of her '_previous_', abusive husband. He would secure the future for her and her son. And to do that, he had had to be immediately involved.

And so, the games had begun.

What he hadn't been counting on was how _jealous_ Tom would become once he learned of Harry's wish to date Eileen. It had bothered him to no ends – for he had assigned himself a _second_ mission, besides the first one:

To stop Tom from becoming Voldemort.

The decision he needed to do that had come a couple of days after his decision to save Severus. It had been in their shared Transfigurations class, when Tom had resolutely stood up for him in front of the entire class. Harry had decided then and there to never leave the other's side. It didn't matter what he could have once become, it didn't matter what Harry truly felt towards him, he would never leave him.

And he'd thought he'd be safe. He'd thought he would never have to choose between the two of them. But _now_...

After what had happened between them on the night between the 9th and the 10th of June, the world had been completely turned upside down, and Harry didn't know what was his mission any more. He wanted to continue on with what he had started – keeping Eileen by his side as a future wife while still remaining close to Tom, keeping him as his best friend.

Now, he wondered whether Tom would let him...

He had acted no differently from his usual self, as far as Harry could see, after the incident. And perhaps, he hoped, his worries had been for naught. That was, until he spoke to Silas three days later.

"What did you do?" the other confronted him with, casually sitting down at Harry's table in the Gryffinpuff room, where he was currently sitting waiting for his girlfriend to show up for their lunch date.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked in slight bewilderment, taking a slow sip from out of his teacup.

"Oh, just spit it out, already!" Silas exclaimed, frowning as Harry simply raised his eyebrows in question. "Tom's acting strangely... Well, stranger than usual, I suppose – but still! It creeps me out, and it's not just me; everybody's freaked out!"

"Why, what did he do?" Harry asked, feeling a sting of worry.

"It's not that he _did_ anything, exactly, but... Well, he's been very silent, ever since the war ended. And I mean _very silent_! He's not that much of a chatterbox usually either, I know that, but now he's just right out ignoring us most of the time. It's annoying, now that Romulus finally stopped... But, Tom's doing it differently. It's like... He just seems lost in thought, or something, and I always catch him writing in that book of his. That diary... Harry, I think he might be planning something... Something _bad_."

Harry swallowed uncomfortably. _So, Tom hadn't taken this as lightly as he had seemed to... _

"So, what did you do this time?" Silas continued in a quieter voice, leaning forwards over the table.

"Why do you just _assume_ that _I_ did something?" Harry questioned in a tired voice, stalling for time so that he could decide on what he would tell the other.

"Oh, I _know _you did something!" Silas exclaimed in a triumphant voice. "Whenever he's starting acting up, it always leads back to you somehow... It's always been that way – so, spill it!"

Harry sighed heavily and started fiddling with the porcelain cup in his hands. Perhaps he should share his worries with the other? Out of all his friends at Hogwarts, Silas was his closest one – except for Tom of course. Perhaps it was worth it to confine in him. Surely, he wouldn't share what he learned with the others, would he?

"...You won't tell anyone, alright?"

"Right!" Silas immediately exclaimed in an excited voice, putting his hand over his heart. "Cross my heart, and all that!"

Harry looked at him for a couple of seconds, before averting his gaze, steeling himself. And then, jumping right in. "Something kind of happened... at the party that night. After we left."

"Yes?" Silas pressed as Harry hesitated. He was looking at him intently, making him squirm uncomfortably in his seat, his nails drumming nervously against the side of the china.

"I sort of... rejected him..."

"Rejected him? What you... You don't mean like..." Silas' eyes went round as saucers and his jaw slackened completely as he suddenly realized what Harry was telling him. "Get out," he breathed out, his expression one of pure disbelief.

Harry stubbornly averted his gaze, looking into the depths of his cup as he waited for his friend to regain his composure.

"It's just... so surprising," Silas claimed a moment later, still looking startled out of his mind. "I just never knew! So Tom's gay, huh? Wow... I just... wow!"

"What is so _wow _about it?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"No, it's just... Well, I've always figured he didn't care for those things. You know, love and such. That he was, er, _asexual_, or something... We've shared a dorm for _years_, you know, and me and the others – we've never caught him acting on pleasure or anything. Never! We just figured he didn't _have_, you know... urges."

Harry couldn't help but snort at that. _Really_, poor Tom, the people around him didn't seem to realize he was only human.

"But he's actually gay, huh? Well, that certainly puts him in a different light..." Silas said with an odd sort of half-dreamy expression on his face, making something deep down in Harry's stomach awaken, growling furiously.

He narrowed his eyes at the other. "Don't think of him that way," he said in a low voice.

"Why, what do you care?" Silas said, looking mischievous. "Didn't you say you rejected him?"

Loosing his resolve to come clean, Harry averted his gaze again, feeling how his cheeks heated up – aiming for matching the red colour of his tie.

"What is it?" Silas asked in a soft tone of voice, leaning forwards over the table. "Are you feeling guilty about it, or something? Look, I'm sure he understands – you have a girlfriend after all."

"Yeah," Harry whispered, his fingernails still drumming softly against the side of his cup. "Right..."

"Harry," Silas said kindly, making him finally raise his eyes and look at the other. He looked very worried. "I've been meaning to ask you this – and, please, don't take it the wrong way... But, are you sure that you really, er, well... that you should be with Eileen..."

Not liking where this was going, Harry made to rise from the table, taking the shoulder strap of his book bag and slinging it over his head.

"Harry, wait," Silas said, grasping his hand in a firm grip before he could arise fully. "I'm sorry! I don't mean to be nosy, but... It just seems to me that, maybe you should reconsider... I just mean: are you _sure_ this is what you want?"

"I am," Harry said, hesitantly sitting down again, squaring himself before looking straight into Silas' blue eyes. "I care for her, very much so, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her," he said, and instantly felt that certain little twinge of guilt that always followed whenever he thought about his reasons for courting Eileen...

"Alright, alright," Silas said, stroking his thumb over the back of Harry's hand softly, "just wanted to make sure. It's just... You don't seem to be, well, _deeply in love_, and all that. I just... if you think it is an issue that, well, that Tom is a _guy_, you know... Well, I'd understand if you would find that, er, disconcerting..."

"No, no! It's not that!" Harry assured hastily once he understood what the other was getting at. "I have no problem with homosexuality, really, that's not an issue. Not at all!"

Silas smiled softly at him, shaking his head minutely. "I know that – how could you be this close to _me_ if you had a problem with it? What I mean is... From where I stand, you don't seem happy. In fact, you've been looking very miserable all year.

"At first, I figured it had to do with the war, and perhaps that's part of it. But then, you started going out with Eileen, and I thought that that would be good for you. But somehow, you just seemed even more miserable after that. You might not have noticed but, I've been trying to cheer you up all year – but it's been very difficult. The only times I've seen you smile properly is when you've been in the company of _Tom_. Seems to me, he's the only one who can make you truly happy... You never look that way with anybody else."

"Is that why you've been insisting on me wearing your hats all year?" Harry asked in a thick voice, deeply touched Silas cared for him that much. He didn't think he deserved it.

"Sure," Silas said with a grin. "Seems a bit of colour and a fluffy material works fine for cheering you up as well... At least a little bit. But, don't change the subject, you little urchin!"

"Little urchin? You're smaller than me! You should be the urchin!" Harry exclaimed, unable to hold back the laugh that had been building up in his stomach.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll be the urchin," the other said, pouting teasingly. "Point is – when you say you want to be with Eileen, I just don't believe you. I think there's somebody else you'd rather be with... Somebody a bit _taller_, with a pair of _deep green eyes_.

"Am I wrong?" Silas challenged, stealing Harry's cup from off the table to take a slow sip out of it. Harry just looked at him, speechless. What would he answer? What if he told the truth, what would happen then? Would Silas betray him and tell the others?

Before he could make up his mind there was a presence at his side, and suddenly Eileen bent down to press a soft kiss to his cheek, taking a seat in the chair next to him. "Sorry I'm late," she said, eyeing Silas with a befuddled, but slightly amused expression. "Didn't realize this was a double date, though... Perhaps I could have brought Dru, had I known."

"Nah," Silas answered, twisting his mouth into a sly grin. "Never cared much for that Druella Rosier... I find myself preferring the company of your much_ leaner_, black haired classmate..."

Eileen smiled hearing that, but had a quick look around, as if worried somebody would hear them. "Fair enough, but don't you think you should keep it down a bit? What if the wrong people heard you? The consequences would be disastrous – especially _now_, after the war, when so many Pure-bloods have died..."

"Whatever do you mean?" Silas asked innocently, but still smirking, taking another long sip out of Harry's teacup. Eileen seemed to be a bit annoyed with that answer and furrowed her brows slightly, leaning in to speak in a softer tone of voice.

"You know perfectly well what I mean! Al is a member of a Blood Purist family, after all... If they were to find out... And, don't look at me that way, you little idiot!" she snapped when Silas gave her a roll of his eyes. "Look, Al is a very good friend of mine, and if you were to mess things up for him-"

"I won't _mess things up_, alright?" Silas whined, crossing his arms over his chest. Harry, on his side, wasn't entirely sure he was grasping the whole picture of what they were hinting at.

"Oh, really now? It just so happens Al told me what you did to him in the middle of a crowd on the night of your celebration... It's just so _reckless_! Anyone could have seen you, kissing in the middle of the dance floor like that. And, I'm guessing _your_ family won't be that happy finding out about the two of you either. Aren't you the _last_ unmarried male heir of the Selwyn name?"

"Your point being?" Silas asked, raising his eyebrows challengingly. Before she could answer, Harry cut in with a question that had been spinning around in his mind.

"What do you mean? People don't accept homosexuality? But I thought, after the Wizards' Rights Movement..."

"It really depends," Eileen explained in a quiet voice. "Most witches and wizards accept it and respect it, but... Well, the Blood Purists don't like it, because they're all about staying true to the inheritance... And it can't be much of that, can it, in a relationship with no children? Since many of them still believe witches are superior to wizards, some Blood Purists accept witches getting together. But, when it comes to the wizards, who are supposed to pass down the inheritance and the family name, they are not as forgiving.

"On the other hand, Blood Traitors don't agree to it either, for similar reasons. But they also have the influence of the _Muggle_ society, and muggles _really_ don't agree with homosexuality. They actually think of it as a criminal act, and lock the poor bastards up... if not worse... If a Blood Traitor were to find out about somebody around 'em being a homosexual..." She shook her head sadly, but didn't comment on what would happen. Harry swallowed deeply, feeling his stomach clench in discomfort.

"Oi! Don't scare him," Silas exclaimed, levelling a glare at Eileen before piercing Harry with an intent look. "Don't worry about it. Most people don't care, just like with the blood statuses and all that. The extremists have their opinions, sure, but you're right. After the Wizards' Rights Movement, homosexuality was allowed in the magical society by _law_. And as long as you're a strong individual whom people respect, there's nothing to worry about. Well, unless you belong to a family that would disinherit you did they know..."

"And you do!" Eileen cut in, efficiently getting Silas attention back. "Both of you! If your and Al's families found out about the two of you, they'd throw you out. Have you even considered what that _means_? A sorcerer with no family at his or her back has a rough time in the magical world. They have the same kind of social status as Mud-bloods do. With no inheritance, no privileges."

"I can care for myself, thank-you-very-much!" Silas exclaimed in a slightly affronted tone of voice.

"Yes, but you're taking Al down with you," Eileen countered with challenge in her eyes.

"So what do you suppose I should do then, eh? Hide away and pretend to be something that I'm not? I will not live my life cowering away in some bloody closet!"

Eileen sighed deeply, probably mentally cursing Silas' stubbornness, but Harry had to say he was impressed by the other's resolve. Although he knew how hard life was without a family, something that he valued above everything else, he had to agree with Silas. He shouldn't have to live a life he didn't want, only because somebody else had opinions about how he should live it. It should be up to him and how he felt.

"Then, it will be on your hands when Al's family throws him out onto the street," Eileen finally said in a defeated tone, hunching her shoulders together slightly as if she'd given up on a fierce fight.

"I'll be there to catch him," Silas assured her in a sharp tone and arose from the table, throwing down the last of the tea in Harry's cup as he got up. It was probably cold now, Harry mused absent-mindedly. "See you later Harry, Eileen." And he was gone.

As soon as the tail of his robes had left their view, Eileen let out another deep sigh and put her head into her hands. "Why does everybody have to be so bloody _difficult_ today? Seriously! First, Dru refuses to do anything else then lying around all day, then I run into Riddle who bloody tries to throw a hex at my back, and now this? What is it with people today?"

"Tom tried to _hex you_?" Harry exclaimed, outraged.

"Well, he _tried_, mind you. Never said he succeeded," Eileen said with another great sigh. "I guess I had it coming, though, met him in the passage to the common room and kind of snapped at him that he was in my way. I was angry at Dru and didn't really think... Thought he'd strangle me from the look on his face, at first, but he calmed down... I think... I don't know, after throwing that hex he just turned around and walked out of the common room again."

"Where did he go?" Harry asked, feeling dread at what the other might be doing right now. He recalled what Silas had said about him _plotting_ something.

"How would I know?" Eileen asked with a puzzled expression. "He just left! I didn't follow him!"

Harry just starred ahead of him for a while, mulling over what Tom could be up to, worrying his rejection might have pushed him over the edge and he was actually taking out his frustrations on someone. He did have compulsive thoughts after all, and he usually avoided putting them into action by telling Harry all about them. But now...

"So, what should we get? You didn't eat already, did you? I'm really sorry I'm late..."

Harry looked at Eileen in incomprehension at first, but then remembered they were supposed to be on a date right now. "Yeah... I mean, no, I didn't eat. Er, Eileen... I have a bad feeling about this."

"About what?" Eileen asked, looking wary.

"About Tom," Harry explained, watching how her face fell and changed into an irritated one.

"What, him again? Harry, why can't you just let it go for one second? Never mind him, now, let's eat! You can deal with him _later_."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, arising from the table. He needed to make sure Tom didn't _do something_. "I don't think this can wait. Are you alright?" he asked, catching the disappointed look on his girlfriend's face.

"I'm fine," Eileen muttered and grabbed a hold of his Gryffindor tie to pull him down into a chaste kiss. "Go," she said and let him go.

"Thank you," Harry said in a voice he hoped conveyed how sorry he was, well, how sorry he _should be_, and made for the door.

"Harry!" Eileen called after him, making him stop in his tracks and turn around again.

"Yes?"

"Is it ever going to be me?" she asked, looking at him with a sad smile, her eyes shining with some emotion Harry couldn't place.

"What?" he asked, caught off guard.

"Will it ever be the other way around? Will you ever choose _me_ before him?"

_I already have_, Harry thought to himself and forced an apologetic smile onto his face, going back to her to give her another soft kiss upon her pouting lips.

"I promise, I will make it up to you," he swore in a soft whisper.

"Make sure that you do," Eileen whispered back.

* * *

As it turned out, Harry hadn't had to search for long before he found Tom in the Chamber of Secrets, busying himself with examining the Crystal of Parseltongue. It seemed Harry's and Silas' worries had been for naught, thankfully. However, Harry had to agree that Tom seemed very involved with whatever it was he was writing down in his little black diary. But whenever he would ask the other about it, he'd get an expressionless nothing in response, the truth hidden behind the mask of a true master.

All in all, Tom stayed out of trouble, and two days later, on the 15th of June, the school year was over and Harry left Hogwarts castle for the last time. Perhaps he would return some day, but it would never again be as a student. It made him feel slightly depressed, but strangely relieved at the same time. He would miss Hogwarts terribly, it had been like a second home to him for seven years – but at the same time, it was time to move on, start things up and create a life and a home of his own.

As the Hogwarts Express huffed alive with a whiny sort of screech, Harry sank down next to the window in the compartment he had chosen, Tom taking the spot at the other side of the window as the others filled in. He only got the chance to watch his beloved castle disappear into the horizon for a couple of blissful minutes, however, for suddenly Romulus stood in the doorway, calling for him.

"Harry, could I have a word?"

Letting out a small sigh at the interruption, but seeing no reason to refuse, Harry got up and struggled through the slim compartment – the others' long legs blocking his way – and out into the even narrower corridor. Romulus led him through the train without a word, appearing to try and find somewhere for them to talk confidentially. However, he seemed to be out of luck, for all the compartments had at least one or more people in them. Coming to the uppermost end of the train, Romulus sighed and turned around to face him, an annoyed frown on his stony face.

"I could go chase that lonely first-year out of her compartment..."

"Nonsense," Harry said, gesturing towards the door Romulus currently had his back towards. "What's in there?"

Shrugging, the other turned around and simply strode through the door. Following him, Harry found himself in a dark, windowless train wagon filled with carts, barrels and boxes of different kinds. And in one corner, covered with a white silky cloth, stood the Honeydukes Express trolley. Ahead of them, in the other end of the long room, was a door opening leading into what must be the locomotive. Nature flashed by outside the window as they walked closer, both of them as intrigued, neither of them having been in there before.

Just as they were about to step across the threshold and into the very forefront of the train, a plump little witch appeared in front of them, jumping in fright as she had not expected to see them there.

"Oh my goodness, me!" she exclaimed and pressed a hand over her heart as she heaved a big breath in relief. "You nearly scared me to death, you did, boys!"

"Sorry, miss," Harry said and tried to seem as kind and friendly as possible, imagining he and Romulus must look quite fright inspiring for such a little woman, who was left completely on her own. Then, he almost hit himself as he remembered all those values of women being weaker than men only was something that remained in his way of thinking from growing up in the muggle world. Really, who was the stronger party in the magical world really depended on other merits than size and gender.

"Quite alright," the little witch said, huffing a bit and checking a few things on the train console, whipping her wand a few times, and turned to face them once again with her hands on her hips. "But my goodness then, what are you doing here, you two? Don't tell me you're famished already?"

"Oh, no!" Harry explained, a bit embarrassed at being somewhere where he wasn't supposed to. "We were just looking for a place to talk, alone, and we kind of just ended up here..."

"Oh, well then, off you go!" the other said, looking very impatient, waving her hands at them in a shooing manner. Harry instantly took a step back, eager to leave, but Romulus grabbed hold of his sleeve to make him stop.

"Please, Mrs Applebee, but there is nowhere else for us to go."

_Applebee_, Harry thought, studying the sweet little woman in front of them a bit more closely. Once Romulus had said it, he instantly saw the resemblance between this dark, plump little woman and his house mate, Bree.

"Are you Bree's mother?" he blurted before he could help himself, and the other two looked strangely at him for a couple of heartbeats, before Mrs Applebee's face split into a heart warming smile.

"You know my Bree, son? Why, who are you then? A classmate of hers?"

"Yeah," Harry said with a smile of his own. "I'm Harry Potter, we used to be in Gryffindor together."

"Oh my goodness," Mrs Applebee exclaimed as if in horror, throwing her hands over her mouth while looking at him with watery eyes. "Oh, you must be related to that poor Lora Potter, then? Oh dear, such a shame, that one. Bree was devastated for months after what happened – really good friends, they were, did you know? Oh... I'm so sorry dear, I didn't mean to bring it all up and make you feel bad."

"No, it's alright," Harry assured her, forcing a smile to return to his numb face. "I'm glad you remembered her... It's good..."

"Tell you what," the other said, smiling widely with a bit of sparkle in her dark brown eyes. "Why don't the both of you have something out of the trolley, on me... Oh, yes, just go ahead!" she said vigorously as Harry made to object. "Have something to eat and have your little chat. I have to make the rounds about now anyway – a lot of hungry stomachs to feed."

Seeming excited, the little witch led the way over to the Honeydukes Express and ripped the fabric from off it, encouraging both Harry and Romulus to take a couple of Pumpkin Pasties and a handful of Chocolate Frogs each. Then, telling them to watch the train for her (although there really wasn't any need, since the train was run on magic and could manage perfectly fine on its own), she walked out the door – staring to call out "Something from the trolley?", before the door slid closed on her and they were left on their own.

"I think I might have made her feel guilty," Harry said in a light voice and went into the locomotive to sit down in one of the squishy chairs in front of the grand windscreen, looking out at his surroundings in a relaxed manner.

"She's not the only one," Romulus said in a quietly and sat down in the other chair, looking out at the scene ahead as well, his face set into the usual stony _Lestrange_ expression.

"I've made you feel guilty, too?" Harry asked in what he hoped was a neutral tone. He really hated making people around him feel uncomfortable, whether he had something to do with it or not, so he took slight offence when Romulus accused him for yet another thing.

"Yes, and no," the other said slowly, seeming to think at the same time as he spoke. "I feel guilt because of how I acted towards you..."

"Yeah, you said," Harry agreed, taking a big bite out of one of his Pumpkin Pasties to have something to do. "Wasn't sure if you meant it or not with that hug of death following the apology, though."

Had it been Tom sitting next to him, he would have responded with a sharp witty comment. Silas would have started arguing teasingly with him, trying to prove his hugs were in fact not deadly at all by throwing himself a him. Eileen would have pretended to be hurt, making him come closer to her for retribution before drawing him in for a kiss.

All of Harry's other friends would have realized the humour in the comment.

But not Romulus. He didn't realize the humour at all, but just sat still with no expression on his face whatsoever. It wasn't that he didn't recognize teasing for what it was. He knew how to tease, and frequently did so whenever he got the chance. But whenever he was at the receiving end of a joke, he never took it well.

This was the main reason why Harry found it so difficult to like him. Why, through all of their years together at Hogwarts, Harry had never gotten along with Romulus enough to become his friend. He was just _so hard_ to get along with properly. He was like a person made entirely out of stone, and Harry just felt uncomfortable being around him. Especially when alone...

"I meant it," Romulus said in a serious voice, and Harry frowned in annoyance at the other ignoring yet another one of his attempts at joking.

Seeing his frown, Romulus turned to face him with properly, an intent look in his cold grey eyes. "I truly am sorry, Harry, I had no right to act like I did. I had no right to take out my frustrations on you."

"I said it was alright, didn't I?" Harry said, still frowning in annoyance, feeling irritation starting to build up inside of him. "Just whatever, okay? Drop it!"

"No," the other stated coldly, still staring at him with dead grey eyes. "I must tell you why, first, or I won't let it go."

"You did tell me why, quite frequently, if you remember," Harry said in a sharp tone. "You thought I was to blame for your brother's death, somehow..."

"I was... in the wrong," Romulus answered slowly, as if it pained him to confess such a thing, and Harry felt his irritation only grow inside of him. "I took out my anger on you, because of the circumstances of my brother's death, and that was... unjust of me. And for that, I apologize."

Feeling disgusted with himself for not allowing himself to leave it at that, Harry let out a furious sigh and gave in to temptation. "What do you mean? What circumstances?"

Romulus just sat in silence for a couple of seconds that felt like minutes, watching him with piercing grey eyes that made Harry's skin itch uncomfortably. Then, he turned towards the windscreen in front of them and let out a deep sigh, visibly squaring his shoulders.

"He hasn't told you then, your brother?"

"Told me what?" Harry questioned tensely, feeling very suspicious of the other. "When would he have told me _anything_? We haven't seen each other since August last year."

Romulus just let out another deep sigh and started fiddling with the hem of his right sleeve. Then, he started talking in a silent, emotionless voice.

"They were in the same squadron, our brothers, did you know? They were part of one of those groups that were supposed to lay low close to the enemy troupes and keep a lookout..."

"How do you know that?" Harry questioned suspiciously. "They haven't been allowed to send any owls, none of them. It was considered to be too risky, because the enemy could trace the owls back to the army itself... The only ones allowed were the First Generals, and they could only send the names of the dead to the Ministry of Magic, so that the employees could send word to their families-"

"My mother was in the same squadron as well..." Romulus explained in a tad bit louder voice, interrupting Harry quite rudely. "She was permitted furlough after what happened, so she sent me a letter of her own... She went mad with sorrow, after... Look, if you don't know what happened, I'll tell you."

With that, he turned back around to look at Harry again, his face set into his stony expression – but his eyes shone of determination. "They never got along at Hogwarts, and not after either. They just never took a liking to one another, and would often anger each other to the point when one of them lashed out one way or another... The day when Rodolphus... when _he_ died... They had had another fight, they were all very tired and hungry at that point and things escalated. Your brother, he became so angry he charged out of cover, probably looking for a place to be on his own for a while.

"The General in charge for their squadron ordered Ro... _him_ out of cover too, to get your brother back. And before anyone knew it, they had started shouting at each other. My mum said she started making her way over towards them... She just barely had the chance to see how he punched your brother to the ground, before... Before the enemy started attacking. Your brother was out of range, because he'd been thrown back to the ground, but... But Rod, he..."

Harry could barely believe it, but Romulus' voice had started to shake, and at the end of his tirade, he was unable to continue as his body started shivering with withheld sobs.

Harry, instantly filled with compassion for the other who was so obviously hurting, arose from his chair and pulled the other to his feet as well – enveloping him into a tight hug.

Romulus didn't weep, no moisture escaped his eyes, no sobs escaped his mouth. Perhaps he was done crying, it all had happened months ago after all. But his voice was still very thick when he whispered his apologies into Harry's ear from his position with his head leaning down against his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to take it out on you... It wasn't _you _who took him away from me... But all I could see when I looked at you was _Harold Potter_ – you look very much alike. I just... I couldn't handle it... I'm sorry."

Harry's heart stung at that. At the realization that Romulus Lestrange wasn't so hard to understand as he'd once thought. That they were more alike than he had once even dared to believe.

He finally understood the other now, and it was as if a wall between them had finally razed to the ground, enabling it for them to finally see each other properly.

"I forgive you," Harry promised, stroking the other's back comfortingly. "I understand, and I forgive you."

Perhaps they could actually become real friends one day, Harry thought. Perhaps, it wasn't impossible after all.

Struck by a sudden thought, Harry pulled back from the other, so that they could talk properly again. "There's just, er, one thing I'm not clear on..." he said, and the other nodded shortly once to show he was listening. "If you couldn't stand to be around me, because of Harold... How come you stayed away from the others as well? They didn't have anything to do with it."

"... Well," Romulus said, looking a bit embarrassed, an expression Harry had _never_ seen on the other's face before and was therefore a bit stunned by. "See, Silas was pretty mad at me at first, for how I treated you... And then Alfred started yelling at me too, which made Abraxas speak up as well... You know, as soon as one of them has an opinion about something they all start to speak their minds sooner or later... And then, I said something about you I regret now, and that I really didn't mean in truth back then either. And, er... that made Tom react pretty badly, one could say..."

"He did?" Harry asked, his gut clenching in worry. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Not much, anyway," Romulus explained in an indifferent tone of voice. "Just choked me with the Strangling Curse for about a minute, while he yelled at me... and after he'd let me go, they all started ignoring me... So I thought it best to just stay out of their way for a while. The others soon started loosening up, talking to me again, but I felt too guilty for what I was feeling towards you to answer them. It was just... simpler to ignore them and keep out of their way."

"I see," Harry said lamely, not really knowing how to respond. Part of him felt sorry for Romulus, because of how he'd been singled out because of feelings he could not control. Another, deeper part of him was cheering in happiness because his friends had stood up for him, not so that they could later tell him about it, but just because they felt the need to.

None of them saying anything, they just looked at each other in silent understanding, before they silently moved as one to the door out of the locomotive. Romulus said he was going back to the compartment he shared with Dido, and Harry decided to search out Eileen to sit with her for the remainder of the trip.

They split up – finally as friends.

* * *

When the train finally huffed into London and onto platform 9 ¾, Harry couldn't have been more nervously anxious. It was such a long time since he had seen his family, and he desperately wanted to see them, wanted to make sure they were alright. They had sent him letters, of course, for the last five days. In those letters, they had asked him all about his final year at Hogwarts, telling him how much they missed him. But they had not once mentioned anything about the war. Harry had asked, of course, but he'd only gotten vague unspecific replies for his efforts. It had left him a bit worried there was something they withheld from him, not to ruin his last days at Hogwarts.

As he struggled through the crowd and finally managed to find the messy-haired group of people he was searching for, he instantly recognized one very central person was missing.

He pushed forwards and soon found himself in the warm embrace of his dear mother. Nicole held him tightly around the waist, stroking his back as far up as her short posture would allow her.

"Where's Harold?" Harry asked worriedly, and she reluctantly let go of him in favour of looking into his eyes seriously. She didn't say anything though, and Harry soon found himself in the restricting embrace of his father, holding him fiercely as if he'd suddenly disappear if he didn't.

"I've missed you, Harry," he said in a strangled voice, and Harry nodded mutely, a heavy lump in his throat.

"Me too," he finally managed to whisper. Then, as Walter let go Charlus with little Daniel came forwards to greet him as well. Behind them, Dorea hovered a bit awkwardly, but she smiled and greeted Harry too when his eyes met hers.

"But, where _is _he?" Harry asked again, and Nicole smiled softly at him, touching his arm carefully.

"He's been taken to St Mungo's, Harry, he... He's had a slight accident, nothing to worry about. He's close to recovery."

"He's injured?" Harry exclaimed in terror, feeling annoyed that no one had told him about this before this point. "Why haven't you... Oh God, Aunt Katherine's not here either. She's not-"

"No, Mum's fine!" Charlus hurriedly said, rocking Daniel up and down for a bit, soothing the two-year-old who was starting to act up because of the loud noises around them. "She's with Grandma... Well, she's been a bit... you know, ever since..."

_Ever since Leonard died_, hanged in the air around them, but no one spoke it. They all understood anyway.

Together, they travelled back to Godric's Hollow, so that Harry could drop off his trunk and his broomstick. Then, they were off again. They had a hospital patient to pay a visit to.

* * *

_A/N: Even surprised myself with this one – this chapter was supposed to be about something completely different... Oh well, maybe next time, I guess. Hope you liked it :)_

_Mischief managed! _


	10. Skeletons

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Ten

_Skeletons_

* * *

Dressed in Muggle clothes, as to not attract attention to themselves, the Potters travelled through the Muggle Subway in a tightly knit group. Although, perhaps the "not attract attention" part and the blending in wasn't really working out as planned...

Harry found amusement in what clothing his relatives had deemed Muggle enough: Dorea had dressed herself in an old-fashioned, brown dress that reached just below her knees, where the edge of her regular, deep blue skirts continued down to her feet. And, as if uncomfortable without a travelling cloak over her shoulders, she had pulled on a shorter, frilly skirt over her head, wearing the waistband around her neck so the fabric flowed down her upper body, down to her elbows.

Charlus, on his end, looked utterly ridiculous. He had put on an elegant, black top hat on top of his head and dressed himself in a very wide, dirty green woman's dress with slim sleeves that hugged his arms snugly. He looked like a walking tent with arms, in Harry's opinion. It became even more ridiculous as he hadn't changed out of his robust dragon-hide boots, peeking out from under his skirts as he walked.

Their little son, Daniel, was dressed in a quite neutral, black girl's dress, reaching just above his knees.

Harry and his mother were to only ones who looked even remotely like themselves, wearing their disguises – Nicole was dressed in a simple, long purple dress, and Harry in simple black slacks and a white, button-up shirt.

Walter's peculiar choice, on the other hand, was surely the most entertaining of them all. He had chosen to pull on a flowing, bright pink woman's dress over his usual brown tweed pants and dress-shirt – using it as he would his own robes. On top of it all, he had picked out a bright yellow, wide-rimmed woman's hat, the rim decorated with loads and loads of little Sunflowers.

The lot of them were most likely drawing more attention to themselves now than they would have wearing witch's and wizard's robes. Despite this fact, the others seemed to find Harry the one dressed oddly, as he was having nothing on even resembling a hat or a robe. Nicole even tried to wrap a little, red skirt over his shoulders before they left home, clearly uncomfortable with his state of "undress".

As the Muggles around them on the train looked at the oddly dressed group of disguised sorcerers, they all looked at Harry in an accusing manner, clearly thinking in the lines of him being the reason for the Muggles suspecting them. Harry just smiled and shook his head at them, finding it endearing how hard they tried, and how miserably they all failed.

Close to the very heart of London they got off and climbed the stairs to ground level, looking around them at all the Muggles shuffling about: costume-clad men with briefcases hurrying to their jobs, thin women in knee-length skirts walking around in groups, soldiers in their uniforms, old people with walking-sticks, kids holding onto the hands of their parents. It was a world in peace, a world of relief. They were people with unexplainable feelings of happiness, but at the same time, people with with deep, mental scars that would never fade away completely. War and death had left them all a but cynical and cold-hearted.

Scurrying through the crowded street, the group of sorcerers soon came to stand in front of the "abandoned department store" Purge & Dowse Ltd, where the magical St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was hidden from the Muggle population.

Walking fast, doing their best not to look suspicious, they passed through the store-front of the red-bricked building in quick succession – and soon they were all standing in the extremely crowded hospital lobby. It was filled up with witches and wizards, standing in groups, speaking loudly to one another. In front of the desk was a queue so long Harry couldn't see the end of it, as it continued into one of the adjoining corridors on the ground floor.

There were loads of people with different sorts of maladies crowding the room, who were probably put on hold as many witches and wizards who were injured in the war was taking up all the remaining space in the upper levels of the hospital. Them getting any help at all today was quite unlikely, Harry feared, as he watched a distraught father rock his toddler up and down, soothing it as it wailed in pain with angry, red blisters covering her body from top to toe.

His intentions to become a Healer truly sparkled to life right then, as he was standing in the midst of people desperately seeking the help they needed. There would always be people in need, people for him to help. And that was truly what he intended to do with his life – dedicate it to the purpose of helping others.

Looking at the distraught people around him, Harry's mind settled firmly: he would become the best Healer there ever was.

"Come on, dear," Nicole prompted at his side, grasping his hand in a firm hold, leading him though the sea of people to one of the slim corridors, where wooden staircases lined the walls. "Harold's on the fourth floor, where they handle spell damage," she explained in a shaky voice as the group of people started climbing the stairs in a slow pace. "Ward forty-four, right Walter, dear? What was the name of it?"

"Derwent Shimpling Ward," Walter panted, holding up his pink skirt as not to stumble on it, as he climbed the staircase behind them.

The first floor, and the other ones they passed on their way, was as littered with people as the ground floor had been. Although, here the chaos seemed to be somewhat organized, witches and wizards in lime green robes hurrying from room to room while their patients followed them obediently.

Finally, they were on the second topmost level of the hospital building, walking down the crowded corridor until they reached the door to a room on which the sign said _Derwent Shimpling Ward: Serious Organ Damage_. His stomach curling together in dread, Harry wondered exactly how _serious_ his brother's injuries in fact were, if he had to be put in a ward such as this one.

Before he could follow his family inside to find out for himself, however, there was a sudden, irritated voice coming from out of his pants' pocket.

"Harry!"

Almost jumping out of his own skin, Harry stuck his hand into the pocket and pulled out a little brass mirror from out of it. Inside the frame a couple of dark green eyes under a dark frown could be seen.

The little two-way mirror hadn't gotten much use during Harry and Tom's last year at school, mainly because they had been too busy trying to avoid each other most of the time. But now that they were out of Hogwarts, and not in immediate reach to one another, they had both agreed to carry around the means of communication, just to simplify things. Waiting for owl post to arrive indeed seemed tedious when one could just pull out a small device out of one's pocket and simply speak.

Gesturing for the others to go on ahead and enter the ward where his brother lay injured, Harry turned on his heel and slowly walked over to the end of the corridor, where he could get at least a little bit of privacy.

"What's the word, Hummingbird?" he questioned playfully and smiled softly as Tom's left eye twitched irritably in response.

"Where are you?" the other asked instead of answering, sweeping his eyes across the glass surface, trying to see beyond Harry's own head.

"St Mungo's," Harry said, having his own look around at the dark wooden walled and sparsely lit corridor end he'd ended up in.

Really – they really could do with a couple of windows in here, he thought. Perhaps the place wouldn't seem so stuffy, were that the case. But on the other hand, the darkness of it was a welcome contrast to the Muggle hospitals he'd been to – especially that certain Muggle asylum he'd been locked into once – that were always in a pearly white colour scheme, as if the colour alone could make the place seem clean and harmless to a sick person. Harry just found it sterile and constricting.

"Harold has had an accident, apparently. Was just about to see him when you called. Was it something that you wanted, 'cause I really need to go..."

"Yes, I do need a bit of your time," Tom declared in a pompous tone, looking away from the mirror and at something in front of him, dismissing Harry's questioning gaze entirely. "We need to step up our game and rid ourselves of _your little guest_ once and for all, don't you agree? I'm currently in Knockturn Alley, on a shopping spree if you will, and I need your... assistance."

"I can't leave here now, Tom," Harry stated tiredly, letting out a little sigh when the other simply rose one of his perfectly arched eyebrows. "Look, it's about time I see my family for once, I've missed them and besides, they need me. So, I can't right now. I'll come by your place tomorrow, and we can go shopping then-"

"No, that will not do," Tom drawled in a bored tone, stepping into one of the dingy shops of Knockturn, making a small bell over the door tinkle. "I'm here now, I'm not going back tomorrow. You can get your own books, if you need them."

"Yeah fine," Harry muttered, trying in vain to push away the aching in his chest at the cold and indifferent tone Tom used with him nowadays. After all, it was his fault his best friend behaved that way, he didn't have the right to pity himself. "I'll come by tomorrow then."

Without a word, the mirror in his hand went blank and all he could see was his own face. Tom had closed off the connection.

Grinding his teeth together at the stiffness of their current relationship, feeling the demonic monster stir under his skin at the slight twinge of anger, Harry put the mirror back into his pocket and walked through the dim corridor on his way into the Derwent Shimpling Ward.

All of the Potters turned to look at him once he entered the wide room, Harold's face lighting up in happiness, a wide grin stretching from ear to ear. "Hey, little brother!" he called out, throwing out an arm to beckon Harry closer to his bed.

The wide room was filled up with uncomfortable looking, wooden beds with thin mattresses and dust grey sheets. All of them were occupied by witches and wizards of varying ages, the vast majority no doubt war victims suffering from damage handed out on the battlefield.

In the bed to the right of Harold's lay an unconscious, greying witch with a circular opening through the skin of her chest, her heart lying beside her on the bedside table, beating weakly where it swam around in some sort of murky green potion inside of a small glass tank.

On the other side of Harold's bed sat a middle-aged wizard, lazily reading a heavy book with his mouth wide open, revealing his little pink tongue that was ever so slowly knitting itself back together.

As Harry approached his family, Harold eyed him with great amusement, chuckling lightly with twinkling dark blue eyes. "Why on earth are you walking around like that, in just your undergarments?" he questioned with a quirk to his lips.

"I'll have you know this is a far better disguise than whatever _they _are wearing," Harry defended himself in mock indignation, twitching his head towards his father and cousin in a meaning gesture. "Although, I do confess I could have benefited from wearing a hat, most Muggles do, at least when outside..."

"Well, you could at least have worn some sort of robe, Harry dear," Nicole fussed, swatting away invisible dust from of his shoulder. "It may be summer, but it's still quite bitter outside, don't need you too getting sick, now."

Harry locked gazes with his brother and they both rolled their eyes at their mother's antics, although Harry would confess in the privacy of his mind how nice it was having someone pamper him then and again.

The lot of them stayed with Harold for quite a while, talking lightly about little things, doing their best to stay clear of all subjects concerning the war. Harry was dead set on extracting some sort of explanation as to why his brother was hospitalized, but whenever he tried to breach the topic, either his father or his mother would interrupt him, as if the subject was too sensitive to bring up for some reason.

It made Harry very frustrated after it had happened a couple of times, and he was just about to demand an explanation when Charlus caught his eye and demanded he'd follow him to the Visitors' Tearoom, since he had to be famished after the long train ride.

Convinced Charlus was more likely to tell him what was going on if left alone in his company, Harry sullenly agreed and walked out the room at the heels of his cousin. At once when outside, Harry rounded on the other with wrinkled eyebrows, walking shoulder to shoulder with him up the robust staircase to the fifth floor.

"What actually happened to him? No one's telling me a bloody thing about it. It can't be that bad, can it?"

"It's a bit sensitive, at the moment. Hopefully, it will calm down in a couple of days," Charlus disclosed, looking quite grim, the expression clashing horribly with his ridiculous clothing choice. "I'd be careful mentioning anything about it around Dorea, in fact, if I were you. She's still blaming herself enough to make an awful racket about it, mind you, you don't want to see her angry."

"What, why?" Harry asked, irritated at the lack of information. "Why would she find it sensitive, of all people, when it's Harold who's injured?"

"Because he got injured throwing himself in front of a curse heading in her direction," Charlus explained in a tired voice, leading Harry into a big, but still darkly lit, room where a long queue lined one of the walls, leading to a pay desk where a bored looking teen stood taking orders from the guests. The rest of the room was filled up with little black tables with chairs, most of them occupied by the many visitors littering the place.

Harry contemplated Charlus' answer while the both of them took place at the tail end of the queue, finding it extremely frightening how the war had affected them all to this point. The wolf part of his family had been out fighting in these deadly combats, being thrown into lethal situation after lethal situation, while he had been perfectly safe at Hogwarts battling his own problems which seemed oh so pathetic in comparison.

It was understandable Dorea wouldn't want to talk about what had transpired, especially if she had been rescued by her husband's cousin in such a fashion, her being a very prideful Pure-blood witch. She must be feeling so much guilt, Harry imagined. Hell, he knew he would have if one of his close ones had done thus for him.

And it must be horrible for Charlus too, having his close cousin sacrifice himself in order to save his beloved wife. Harold could have died, he'd been extremely lucky. He would certainly hear it from Harry at the next opportune moment, but it would have to wait until they were out of earshot from the others.

Sensing Charlus' discomfort, Harry decided to kindly change the subject, asking his cousin how things had been at home on his end.

"A bit rough," he confessed with a small smile, lightening his rugged appearance a bit, although he still looked to be all too thin and very tired. "But it's not like I can complain. I've been looking after little Daniel, of course, taught him how to walk... well, nearly, he's almost got it now. We've spend most of our time at gran's, looking after her too. She's not all too well right now, Dad... his death came as quite the chock to her. Well, I guess you already knew that."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly, swallowing against the uncomfortable knot in his throat. "When's the funeral?" he asked in even quieter a voice and Charlus simply stared at him in incomprehension for a couple of seconds.

"Oh," he breathed out, snapping out of his stupor. "In a few days, er... on the 20th it is. In three days. We were aiming for a date when Harold is released as well, so he can... Er, he should be quite soon, perhaps tomorrow already, they say. Well, the healers."

"Alright," Harry murmured, straining to find something else to talk about to cheer his worn out cousin up a bit. Before he got a chance to step his foot in it and make matters worse with some sort of half-hearted small talk, Charlus turned sharply to look at him, as if he'd just remembered something.

"I just remembered – Leda says he wants you to come over. Just whenever you feel like it, he says... He's been wound up lately, and he seems a bit... well, off his rocker, really. But, he keeps bothering me to get you to come visit him as soon as you can."

"Oh," Harry said in surprised wonder. He hadn't met Castor Ledford, commonly known as Leda, since his second year at Hogwarts, well, his first year in this time, that was. "How is he?"

"He's, well," Charlus began, momentarily distracted as a bowl of steaming hot soup soared over his head on its way over to a chubby little wizard in the far corner of the room. "He's Leda, alright, you know, pretty much his usual self. Only a bit more... well, _more_ I guess. He got thrown out of the British Army almost as soon as he stepped foot in his squadron. So he's been at home as well, painting like crazy – earned himself a hefty sum for it. He's gotten himself this crazy house. But, he's been over at my place quite often, think he's been very lonely..."

"Wait, wait," Harry interrupted, holding his hands up in a halting gesture, "why wasn't he in the war? Did something happen?"

"Oh, yeah, I suppose," said Charlus slowly, scowling darkly. "He's bloody difficult to get answers out of, though, I must have asked him about it a hundred times... or, at least 99 times... He keeps giving some bullshit _it was already decided to be so_, or something of the sort. Seriously! One day, I swear, that swelling head of his will explode into a million tiny bits. I won't be surprised. I've never met someone with an ego of the like."

Sniggering lightly at the other's exasperation Harry was glad at least Leda had been around for his cousin to liven things up a bit. "So, you don't know, then?"

"Well, I can only assume it's something silly... Like for instance, one of the generals might have pronounced his full name, or something of the sort."

"What's the deal with that, anyway?" Harry asked in wonder, having heard many fearful whispers about how it was _forbidden_ to address Leda by his given name, but no one had ever explained to him why that was.

"To be quite honest, I don't really know either," Charlus said with a light sigh, shaking his head slowly, mindful of the heavy hat resting atop of it.

"As you know, he was in Slytherin while I was in Gryffindor at our time at Hogwarts. The rumours were there was an _incident_ the first lesson he attended, which was a Transfiguration class for his House only. Since I wasn't there, I can't know, but after that lesson word got around that speaking his name was prohibited. A few people tried, as I recall, but they were all frightened so badly they never tried it again and strongly advised people against it. All I know is that he soon acquired the nickname _the Pink Dragon_, so I can only assume it has something to do with his Shape Shifting abilities."

"You think his Metamorphmagi is the reason behind it?" Harry asked in surprise, not really knowing much about the ability, having only met one Metamorphmagus in his life. Was it possible the Shape Shifting could backfire, becoming dangerous? Or had Leda been manipulating the people around him simply because he didn't like his own name? It seemed ridiculous, but then again, Leda had never been known for being sane...

"Who knows," Charlus said dismissively with a shrug, effectively breaking Harry's line of thought, as he stepped up to the counter to place his order as the line of people that had finally come to an end.

* * *

They were all moving towards the door of the ward, ready to leave Harold behind so that he could rest. Visiting hours were coming to an end. But Harry didn't feel quite ready to leave – there was still so much to talk to Harold about, questions poking at his busy mind.

"You go ahead," he therefore said to the rest of the Potters, who turned to look at him in question. "I'll come after, there's just a few things I want to clear up with my dear brother first."

"But, Harry dear, can't it wait?" Nicole asked worriedly, rocking a whining Daniel up and down in her short-armed, soft embrace. "It's getting late, and I don't want you riding the Muggle trains on your own."

"It's fine, Mum," Harry reassured her, "I've used them loads of times back where I came from."

Well, technically, that wasn't exactly true. He had done it a few times, the one time accompanied with the huge form of Hagrid coming to mind, but _loads of times_ were clearly an overstatement.

"And besides," he continued when she looked less than convinced, "when it's just me, it's easier to get away undetected by the Muggles. We might be in the middle of London, but there's a park close by, and there shouldn't be too many people around at this hour. I could just disapparate..."

"You will do _no such thing_," Nicole exclaimed in a shrill tone, trying her best to keep it down not to disturb the ward's patents.

"Oh, let him do as he please," came the sudden, gruff voice of Walter from behind his steaming wife. "I'm certain he can handle a simple apparition. He's an adult now, you keep forgetting Nicole. He's not a little boy any more."

"Yeah Mum, stop coddling him," Harold piped up from under his duvet, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he snatched Harry's wrist and pulled him closer. "Although he'll always be _little baby Harry_ to me, he's practically a _real _wizard now. Oh!" Harold mock gasped, poking a long finger on the side of his brother's chin. "Is that a _hair_ I see? Better be careful, Harry, or you might turn hairy before you know it."

"Funny," Harry said, twisting out of the other's grip, "coming from someone with the word _old_ in his name."

"What was that, did you hear?" Harold piped up to the others, his face shining with brilliance competing with that of the sun. "I think he's learned a new word. Oh, _Harry_, I'm so proud!"

Their mother soon gave in, although reluctantly, and the two Potter brothers were left alone from prying eyes. Harry pulled his chair closer to the bed, so that they could have a quiet conversation without being overheard by the other patients in the room, and levelled a piercing gaze at his now serious brother.

"Now, will you tell me what happened for you to be hospitalized?"

Harold's mouth twitched in slight humour at that. "Bothers you no one's telling, doesn't it?" Then, he sobered up and let out a deep sigh. "I did something heroic, which I'm not so sure I'd do again if given the chance to be quite honest. Everyone's pretty pissed with me now..."

"Well, from what I hear, it wasn't as heroic as it was reckless. Dorea is quite the capable witch after all, I think you hurt her pride to be honest."

"Yeah, I know," Harold agreed, fiddling with the hem of his sheets. "I didn't mean it like that, though... It was just in the heat of the moment, you know? I saw that curse coming at her, and she had her back turned, and I couldn't just stand and watch... _Not again_... And then, all my organs started collapsing, and she took me here at once. The last thing I saw before blacking out was her furious face. _Man_, was she angry..."

_Not again_, echoed in Harry's head for a couple of seconds before he slowly connected the dots. When he did, he leaned forwards and grasped his brother's bigger hands in his. "I heard what happened with Rodolphus Lestrange..."

Harold paled dramatically, some shine leaving his eyes, before he lowered his eyes onto their joined hands. "Oh," he breathed out, chewing slowly on his bottom lip. "No one was supposed to know about that... Well, Dorea knows of course, she was there after all... But, how do you...?"

"Er, Romulus, his brother... he told me," Harry explained and Harold simply nodded dully in response, still evading his eyes. "It's not your fault, what happened. You know that, right?"

His brother let out a humourless laughter, shaking his head back and forth. "Of course it's my fault, you moron. If I hadn't-"

"No!" Harry interrupted, squeezing the other's hands painfully hard, making him finally look up at him. "No 'what ifs'! The only thing you did was being at the wrong place at the wrong time. And, it was reckless of you, I agree. But it still wasn't your fault what happened. _You_ did nothing, you didn't aim and throw that spell. Don't blame yourself."

"Says he who couldn't stop blaming himself after what happened to Lora..." Harold said dryly, the atmosphere around them turning stiff as they had taken a step onto forbidden ground. The subject of Lora's unfortunate and early death was still a sore subject for both of them. For the entire family, in fact.

"Sorry," Harold muttered when he caught up on the blunder he'd made.

"No, it's alright," Harry said with a defeated sigh. "You're right, I'm not exactly the role model for 'not blaming myself'... But, I've come to realize that I was out of my depth. It took a while to accept it, but there was nothing I could have done.

"And the same goes for you," Harry said with more vigour. "It just happened, alright, it was out of your hands."

"Well, however that might be true or not," Harold said, evading his eyes again, "I couldn't stop thinking about it after it happened. I was just so... angry with myself, not just for _that_, but because of how I'd treated him all my life."

"I heard he gave as good as he got," Harry stated coldly, raising his eyebrows challengingly.

"Yeah, sure," the other confessed, scratching the side of his head slowly. "But I didn't need to blow up at him like I did, could have given it more of an effort to at least tolerate him enough, right? It all just clouded up my mind, a quite dangerous mindset to have in war... And when I saw that spell coming at Dorea, and I knew that that could be it. It could be the curse that killed her. That took her away from Charlus, who had already lost both his sister and father to the war... I just couldn't stand aside and let it happen."

"And you didn't think it would have hurt Charlus just as much to lose _you_?" Harry questioned in a dangerous tone, making Harold look at him questionably.

"Well, I'm not married to him, am I?"

He actually had the nerve to grin merrily when Harry swatted him painfully over the head. "You right out _saphead_," he hissed angrily. "Pull this kind of stunt again, and I'll kill you _myself_!"

"Yeah," Harold said, breathlessly sniggering. "I get that a lot..."

* * *

The front door of Riddle Manor slammed shut behind him as he stormed away from the building and as far away as humanly possible from the incredulously nasty git residing inside of it. His crimson summer travelling cloak flapped behind him like a flag as he hurried along the gravel path down to the main road, throwing nasty glares at the brilliant scenery around him, with the well trimmed lawns, the well groomed horses and the dark green forest framing it all.

He hurried along the road, in the opposite direction of the inviting little village in the far distance below the hill, going instead towards the deeper woods where he would be able to disapparate in peace.

He was so frustrated with himself for getting this riled up, just because Tom continued to give him the cold shoulder. Because he refused to work together, insisting on them working on two separate solutions to their problem.

Harry couldn't help but judge himself, wondering what _the hell _was wrong with him. Tom had every right to treat him this way. So why must it hurt so much? Why must it scar his aching heart to this extent? Hadn't he already made his choice and formed his life the way he wanted it? Wasn't he supposed to be content with keeping Tom as his best friend, his closest associate, while he had other attachments and a wife at the side? Why couldn't that be enough?

But it hadn't been his plan that Tom would suddenly reciprocate his feelings. It hadn't been his plan that he would have to reject the other and suddenly turn their relationship sour.

And it made him so angry – the way it all had slipped out of his hands so quickly. The way he didn't know what he should do, the way Tom made him feel he was the most horrible bastard in all the universe. The way Tom had shied away from him.

It was as if Tom knew his behaviour would infuse him with intense guilt. It was as if it was done on purpose as some sort of revenge. Harry knew it was unlikely, that the other probably was simply shielding himself from getting his feathers ruffled even more, but it still made him uncontrollably infuriated.

Once reaching the glen where he usually found solitude enough to travel without attracting attention, he let out a feral scream and punched his fist deep into an oaken tree trunk, barely feeling any pain at all to compete with the one slamming both his chest and head open.

As if summoned by the feelings of anguish and desperation, Voldemort stirred awake and started clawing for dominance inside of Harry's abused head. It was very curious how the bastard always seemed to know when it would hurt the most, as if he sat waiting for Harry to get so consumed in emotion he lost the grip on his own mind.

_Why not_, came a sudden thought. _What is saying that is not what is happening?_

Could that be the answer, Harry wondered, biting his lip bloody as Voldemort's piece of soul crawled across his mind like a vicious snake, wrapping its coils around him tightly, squeezing painfully. Was that what gave him the power to torture his host so?

Harry thought back to the point in time when his _sickness_ had begun. It had started as a prickle in his scar every now and then. Then, the mood swings had begun, and he had started to get angry at every other little thing. Then came the headaches and the losses of control. Then with the faintings and finally, just recently, those moments when Harry had been so out of his mind angry and in pain that Voldemort had gained full control of their shared body.

The common factor – anger. Strong feelings. Negative, destructive feelings.

The only time when Voldemort had successfully been banished out of Harry's head, without the result of him fainting, was that one time when Tom had suddenly enclosed him in a warm embrace. Harry thought back to that moment, to figure out what had made the difference in that instance. Tom had claimed it was the disgust of human intimacy that had made Voldemort reel back, but Harry was starting to doubt that was true.

Thinking hard on exactly what had transpired, he was suddenly engulfed by strong feelings of love, of affection and longing. The thought of resting comfortably in Tom's arms felt like such a foreign thing, it being so long ago that last happened, that he almost broke down in tears from the loss of it.

Then, he let out a long, shaky breath and fell to his knees as the pain suddenly stopped, Voldemort completely pushed back by the warm feelings of something that man would never be able to comprehend.

The soft grass ran through his fingers, the birds twittered merrily, as he tilted his head back and laughed and laughed. He felt free! Free of the binds in which he'd been tangled for so long. Finally, he held the upper hand. It was so simple – the one thing that would hold Voldemort back.

Love.

He got back to his feet, grinning wildly in triumph, feeling like he would be able to take on the entire world. He didn't think he'd ever felt this powerful before. It was intoxicating.

"Looks like the winds are turning, _Voldemort_," he gasped out, laughing viciously once again by the soaring feelings inside his chest. He felt like he was going to burst like a bubble. "Soon, you'll be nothing but a distant memory. I'll expel you from my mind, and there will be nothing you can do about it."

With regained wits, Harry considered going back to the manor to continue his research and scheming, but decided against it. Perhaps, if Tom and he were apart long enough for the other to miss him, things would change between them? It was a wild optimistic guess, but he just didn't have the energy to stay for another four hours of silent reading while getting dirty looks thrown at him.

So, he dug his hand into one of his pants pockets and picked out the little magical photograph Charlus had given to him the day before; the scenery of a sparkling ocean and a translucent house on the edge of a cliff resting inside of it. Concentrating carefully on the picture, seeing it clearly in his mind, although he'd never been at the place before, he let all other matters go and spun into disapparition.

He appeared with a crack in the middle of a grassy field, the green wisps reaching up to his hips, swaying softly in the light ocean breeze. He slowly trekked up the hill, the ground turning barren and rocky as he came further and further up. Finally, he stood at the top in front of the strangest looking house he had ever laid eyes on.

It was simple cubes made entirely out of translucent glass, stapled onto and next to each other, looking like a bunch of ice cubes organized into a neat looking mess. There was no door, no windows, no roof, no chimney – just glass. And from what Harry could see, there were nothing _inside_ of the glass cubes. They were entirely see-though.

He hesitantly stepped closer, wondering whether he should try his luck knocking on one of the walls or if he'd somehow miscalculated his apparition. But then again, the picture portrayed this very house, now that he stood close to it and understood that it was actually _supposed_ to be translucent.

Before he could make up his mind in what to do, however, a tall, skinny man suddenly stepped right out of one of the cubes, walking closer to him with long, elegant strides. Harry instantly recognized the man as Leda – however, there was something off with his appearance. He looked very... well, common. Not extravagant and dramatic at all.

The man had the same tall and thin body as the man he was looking for, the exact same face, the exact same distant expression. But his hair only reached his shoulders, and it was ink black – not pink or turquoise like Harry was used to. And his eyes were not ocean blue either, but dark brown, almost dull looking. There just wasn't that same eternal _feel _about him Harry got from being around Leda. Something was off.

"Right on time, Mr Potter," the man said in a voice that sounded exactly like the one Harry had been expecting, but still a bit too down to earth. It didn't hold that dreamy quality he was used to.

"I just decided to come here, on a whim, actually," Harry said, eyeing the other carefully as his thin lips twisted into a soft, knowing smile.

"You are expected," the man only said before stretching out his bony hand in a greeting gesture. The man's smile widened as Harry slowly took it and shook it briefly. "I am Pollux Ledford, Leda's brother," the man explained, and grinned wolfishly at the stunned expression Harry no doubt was showing at the news. He hadn't known Leda had a brother...

"Please, come in," Pollux offered, sweeping his long arm towards the glass wall he had come out of, clearly expecting Harry to simply walk though it. Reminding himself the entrance most likely worked similarly to the path to Platform 9 ¾ as well as the mirror passage between rooms in the Slytherpuff room at Hogwarts, Harry plastered an indifferent expression onto his face and stepped through the cold surface.

The inside of the glass cube was a spectacular mixture between what it had looked like from outside and a regular home with normal interior. Through the walls of the square room, that resembled a smallish hallway with a brass coat hanger in the corner and not much else, one could see there were more rooms, although what was inside them was impossible to make out.

Following Pollux, Harry was led through the wall to the right, entering a sort of sitting room. It was located in one corner of the house, which made two of the walls entirely see-though to the beautiful landscape outside. Through the other two walls adjoined rooms could be seen, making the surface of the glass come out as thicker and less transparent.

The sitting room was very sparsely furnished, only a stiff grey sofa group in the middle with a fluffy white rug framing it, a small table in light wood in the middle. The only thing of strong colour Harry could see was the person standing in front of one of the transparent walls, looking out at the billowing meadow outside with his slim back turned to his guest and brother.

Long, straight hair flowed down freely to the small of his back, and it was in a light shade of summer green today, looking almost yellow as the light of the afternoon sun fell onto it.

"Leda," Pollux called out in a soft voice, guiding Harry towards the sofa group with a light push on his left shoulder blade, "he has arrived."

"Yes, thank you, Pollux," Leda said in his quiet, dreamy voice, his back still turned.

Shrugging off his awkward feelings of discomfort, Harry slowly crossed the room and sat down in one of the long sofas, forcing his body into a comfortable position as he kept his eyes on the man in front of him.

"A cup of tea, Harry? May I call you Harry?" Pollux asked, and Harry nodded simply to him.

"Yes, please, I'd like that."

The rustling of his robes betrayed his departure, and as soon as he was out of the room, Leda finally turned around with a soft smile on his face.

"Antevorta, it has been too long. It is good to see you again. You look far more collected and poised then I would have expected. An intriguing turn-out. But then again, confidence suits you well."

"It is good to see you too, Leda," Harry answered, not knowing what to make of the flattery and instead simply decided to ignore it. "How are you? Charlus seems a bit worried about you."

"Does he?" Leda asked with an amused smile, slowly walking closer and elegantly sitting down in the sofa opposite to Harry, taking care to hold up the skirts of his kimono styled, white silk robes as he did so. "Well, he's always had a flair for acting the hero and being protective of those around him. It is a sweet and endearing quality, but alas, it has its tendencies to create misplaced worry, such is the case this time. But enough about Athena – while he is a fascinating human being, that is not why you are here."

"Why am I here, exactly?" Harry asked slowly, struggling to keep from fidgeting with the hem of his crimson cloak. The whole situation seemed staged, somehow, as if Leda and his brother had it all carefully planned out, following a schedule Harry hadn't had a look at. It all made him feel a little skittish. "It's not that I'm not glad you wanted to invite me here, it was a happy surprise. But, as I understand it, there was something you wanted to talk to me about."

Before Leda could answer his question, Pollux re-entered the room, a silver tray with tree glass cups of steaming hot tea balancing on it. Paying closer attention to the man, Harry realized he did indeed do it all by hand, as he came forwards and placed the cups one by one onto the low coffee table. Most wizards Harry knew would make the tea with a few simple waves of their wands, making the gadgets create it for them, before they simply summoned it to where they were seated.

As Pollux sat down next to Harry on the sofa, he caught the other's curious glance and smirked crookedly. "Squib," he explained shortly before taking a slow sip out of his tea cup, and Harry instantly felt ashamed for his obvious confusion. It felt impolite, somehow.

"You are here, for it was decided," Leda said cryptically and Harry felt his forehead wrinkle with his frustrated confusion.

"Decided? Sure, you asked for me to come, but I didn't even know myself I was going to even an hour ago. I'd say it was pure chance..."

"Indeed," Leda said, smiling lazily with a dreamy expression in his ocean blue eyes, his hair slowly darkening to a night sky blue.

"But," Harry continued, licking his dry lips, "if it was chance, it couldn't have been _decided_, it was on a whim."

"It wasn't," Leda contradicted, making Pollux chuckle quietly from behind his cup, "it was pre-decided, by chance, as you said."

"By _chance_?" The other two shared amused glances with each other, as if they were in on some inside joke Harry didn't know of. "But, chance is just... well, random, isn't it?"

"It isn't," Leda said and took a long sip out of his own tea cup. Harry's still sat untouched on the table. "It is dynamic, in constant change, but it is not completely unhinged. If so where, it would be non-existent. What need would there be of chance if it did not have a function?"

"But, you're talking about fate now, aren't you?" Harry asked and felt his frown deepen as the brothers actually laughed quietly behind their cups at him.

"Are you of the belief fate and chance are opposite forces working against each other, Antevorta?"

"Well, yes, that's what I've heard." Harry really couldn't figure out where this was going, and it made him feel very uncomfortable. He'd have to agree with Charlus. From what he'd seen so far, at least, Leda seemed far more out of his mind then he had used to as a Hogwarts student.

"You seem to have spent far too much time with Prometeus," Leda said with a smirk. "Can't be healthy."

Racking his brain for the people he knew Leda's nicknames for, Harry soon remembered who the man had used to refer to as such during their weekly Art lessons at Hogwarts.

"What has Serena got to do with all this?"

"What a peculiar life you must lead, being completely oblivious to the arts of Divination. I couldn't imagine..." Leda whispered to himself, piercing Harry with intense eyes that were shifting colour every so often, swirling back and forwards between pink, yellow and green.

"There are two factions of Divination Theory, Harry," Pollux said helpfully, finally taking enough pity on him to explain what the both of them were on about. "First, there are those who believe in an almighty _Goddess of Fate_. They believe, quite religiously, that there is a more or less static _truth_ that their divinity has preordained. Your friend, Miss Melpomene, is of that belief. Sorcerers like her have a tendency to celebrate Prophets and Seers, why, I believe her grandmother was a Seer?"

"Yes, I think so," Harry confirmed in a hesitant voice, watching the other carefully.

"They think of _fate_ as a conscious being, of sorts, that pulls the strings. _Chance_ for them is, like you previously suggested, something completely random and therefore uninteresting. The opposite of fate, and therefore weak, imprecise and simple.

"But then, there are others who do not believe fate and chance are two opposing forces, but two sides of an unit. Fate is completely static while chance is a dynamic force. All that fate deals with is _birth_ and _death_. When you are born, when you give life and when you die are the only things in the world that is completely set in stone. Everything else, every little detail and occurrence leading you on your path towards your fate, is decided by chance. It is a decided path that is possible to read with the help of Divination techniques, but while it is possible to read, it is still dynamic. Which means it is in constant change.

"Therefore, Diviners like Leda and myself, although I'm not technically capable of being a _real_ one, do not worship Prophets and Seers to the same extent as others might do. For the simple reason that what they tell you today might not be accurate come tomorrow. And, as Leda previously hinted at, fate and chance are not opposites, but _companions _of equal forcethat complement each other."

This was all news to Harry. Although he did understand the reasoning, it was a lot to take in, and he still felt very confused as to how this was all relevant for him.

They all sat in silence for a few tense moments before Pollux arose and excused himself, leaving Harry alone with his peculiar brother, whose eyes had now settled back at their usual blue colour as the man had calmed down.

"Why am I here?" Harry asked quietly, wondering what the point of all this was. It truly felt like much ado about nothing.

"I am a Master in the art of Astrology," Leda stated, slowly tracing the rim of his cup with a long index finger. "I could see you coming. You need my guidance."

"Why?" Harry asked, still very confused.

"I do not know," Leda dead-panned unexpectedly, making Harry let out a startled laugh, finding the entire situation ironically comical.

"Brilliant," he said, shaking his head slowly, feeling quite stupid. "Just brilliant."

"I find it strange," Leda continued, ignoring Harry's outburst. "I have never fallen victim to such a riddle before. It has all been very clear to me, what the night sky was telling me, ever since I was a child. But from the moment I first met you and your counterpart... My readings started coming out tainted.

"The first time I met you, when you came to me that day in the Art Club room, I had already seen you coming. The constellation _Gemini_ had been particularly consistent in my readings, which usually means the happenings of chance involves my brother and I somehow... But when I caught sight of the two of you standing in front of me there was no doubt I had miscalculated – something that had never happened to me before. But then, it all seemed to fall into place; you are of the future, he of the past – you are both the double-headed _Janus_, because of some kind of magical bond, you are not separate but _joined_.

"A fascinating mystery... Another riddle revolving around the two of you is the ever changing identity of your counterpart. It is impossible to label him, for one moment he is _Apate_, the other _Postvorta_, and strangely enough, the third he is..."

"He is what?" Harry asked, when the other didn't continue, simply staring ahead of him, looking insecure for the first time in his life, Harry would wager.

"Hades," Leda said, his eyes almost glazed over as if he wasn't really quite in the present. "Sometimes, he comes out _Hades_... The god of death... I have never seen the like before, chance just don't deal with death. It is just pretentious Seers and Prophets who claim they know when death is near. It's almost as if the two of you do not _have_ decided deaths. As if it is entirely up to chance. As if fate does not have any power at all over the two of you. Perhaps, as a Time Traveller, you have pulled free of the fate first given to you. But why the same would apply to _him_, it is peculiar..."

Harry just knew this had to do with Voldemort somehow. After all, there were _two_ of Tom in this reality, two souls exactly the same. It had to have made some sort of change happen. But what Leda was trying to suggest was sounding a bit too strange to Harry's ears. He'd never heard anything of the like before this point. He'd never found interest in Divination, nor had Tom, for it all had seemed a bit too much like balderdash for their liking.

"And my readings revolving you has been highly grim for the past months," Leda continued with a solemn expression, suddenly looking sharp and attentive again, "always telling me Hades is coming for you, that death is near, that the Grim is walking at your heels. And for some reason, your identity has started to entwine with the one of your counterpart... Antevorta and Postvorta is slipping together, and you are slowly turning into Janus, the double-headed man of the past and the future... It is all quite the riddle to me."

"Not to me. I know what it means. Or, at least I can guess," Harry said shortly, entirely certain _Hades_ was referring to Voldemort, not Tom in this instance, and that his slipping identity was due to his little guest growing stronger and gaining control of his mind and body every so often.

Leda just hummed thoughtfully, making a deep feeling of irritation stir dangerously in the depths of Harry's stomach. It felt like his presence here was entirely pointless, like he was wasting precious time he instead could use for completing his theories on how to banish his _sickness_ once and for all.

"Dinner is served," came a quiet voice from behind him, and Harry spun around in his seat, noticing Leda's brother had soundlessly rejoined them.

Still very uncomfortable and confused, Harry tried to politely refuse the offer, but the others just smiled amusedly at him, claiming he shouldn't be silly. Miffed, Harry tried to quench his feelings of restlessness and followed the two men through their glass house into an airy, almost exclusively white, kitchen. All the plates, glasses, forks, knives, pots, serving dishes and the like were all made out of transparent glass. But the table, the chairs and the counters were in a sleek white material. The only thing sticking out in the room was the heavy iron stove in a dark black colour.

They ate slowly, Pollux making polite conversation with Harry while Leda seemed... bored, Harry judged. As if nothing about their current situation interested him in the least. As the minutes ticked by, and Pollux kept stalling him, Harry finally stressed himself to the point where he couldn't take it any more.

"If you don't have anything of import to say to me, then I see no point in this continued farce, Leda, but will take my leave. Pollux, it was very nice to meet you, thank you so much for the delicious dinner."

As soon as he was on his feet, so was Leda, standing in front of him, blocking his way with a sinister expression on his face. "Calm yourself, Antevorta, there is still much you need to learn."

"Look, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, or what you want from me. But I don't have time nor patience for this," Harry snapped, trying to step around the other. "Get out of my way."

"Get _out of my way_," he repeated furiously when the other didn't react.

"Patience, Antevorta," Leda said in a quiet voice, still blocking his path with an infuriating smile on his lips. Harry saw red. His mind slowly merged with Voldemort and a sadistic gleam shone through his now blood red eyes.

"I've had enough of you and your silly nicknames, _Castor Ledford_," he said in a quiet, hissing voice, not quite Parseltongue, but having the same quality.

The change in the man in front of him was instant; his eyes, hair and skin turned bright pink, as if someone had poured paint over his head. His mouth twisted into a feral sneer, showing off teeth growing sharp and long. On his long-fingered hands, his fingernails grew in length and thickness into black claws. Finally, his long whip of hair became aflame, and his entire back and head was covered in hot, pink fire.

Harry raised his wand in the last second, throwing a protective shield of magic in front of him just as the crazed Metamorphmagus lunged at him. Clawing. Biting. His eyes shining with murderous intent.

Harry was fighting a losing battle of wills inside his head, as he did his best to think happy thoughts, feeling feelings of love to keep Voldemort from throwing _Avada Kedavra_ at the man attacking them. But it was challenging, too challenging! He was losing.

Just as the shield protecting him started to shiver and started to come apart, Pollux came rushing back into the room with a golden instrument in his hands. Harry vaguely recognized it as a harp.

The man started playing, speaking soothing words in his velvety soft voice, and Leda finally seemed to slip back into reality. The moment awareness returned to his bright pink eyes, he instantly turned on his heel, bolting from the room in a swirl of flames.

Before losing control completely, Harry turned around, facing the glass wall showing an awe-inspiring view of the setting sun spreading its copper rays over the shifting ocean.

He dragged in a deep breath through his nose, basked in the soft sunlight and imagined it was not Pollux but _Tom_ standing behind him, hovering worriedly. He would come up close, keep his distance at first, judging the situation. Then, he would stand so close the hairs on the top of Harry's head would stir with his breaths of air. Slowly, his arms would snake over Harry's chest from behind, hugging him in a loose, possessive hold. It would feel so good, like all that mattered in just that moment. The scent of the man he loved would fill his senses, going straight for his heart, that would beat in a rapid pace.

Harry let out another deep breath though his nose as Voldemort shied away completely with a vicious hiss of contempt.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, turning back around to face the hovering, pale man on the other side of the room. "What about him? Where did he go?"

"No, don't worry," Pollux said with a small, yet still worried, smile, gesturing for Harry to retake his seat at the table. "He just needs to calm down," he continued when they were both seated again.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, meeting the other's dark eyes confidently. "I crossed the line, and I didn't mean to... I guess I was just a little curious, it's childish really, but I still shouldn't have done it."

"Believe me when I say you're not the first one to lose your temper with him," Pollux reassured him with a wide grin of pearly white teeth. "I'm actually impressed you lasted this long. Most don't. The only other person who has ever lasted in his company without difficulty for a longer amount of time is in fact your cousin. I can't even say _I_ have been that patent with him most times, at least not growing up. We had some really memorable spats, I have to confess."

Harry found himself surprised. "Really? But you seem so well synchronized with one another. Almost as if you're following some sort of plan you've made up. I suspect you of trying your best to make a fool out of me."

Pollux laughed merrily at that, making light of the situation, and Harry finally felt he could relax a little bit. With his outburst of anger, his strong feelings of love for Tom and now of amusement made his previous discomfort and worry seem very trivial and childish.

"I really should go apologize," he said, feeling quite guilty for riling the other up.

"I'd advise you to hold on for a bit, at least until you'd be out of danger from burning yourself on his fiery hair," Pollux said in a voice tainted with amusement. "I could tell you stories, so many stories. Once, our father tried patting his back when he was like that, that stupid sod – well, you can imagine what happened. He was hopping around the house like a maniac, finally throwing himself under the shower spray fully clothed – I thought I'd never stop laughing... But then again, he's so easily triggered, it's utterly ridiculous in my opinion, how he's never getting over it."

"I just don't get it... Why does he turn like that, just because of a name?" Harry wondered in a quiet voice, hoping he wasn't stepping over the line again. But he was just so _curious_, ever the obsessive mystery solver.

"Oh, I guess you wouldn't know, would you," Pollux said, shaking his head slowly. "You'd never get an answer out of him..."

He sighed and leaned back against the back rest of his white chair, knitting his fingers together in front of him on the table. "No, it's all because of one woman it all started – our mother. See, we didn't grow up with out biological parents, Leda and I, but we were adopted when we were very young. I was five, I believe, which would make Leda three...

"Our mother was a strictly Pure witch with strong ideals and high expectations on both herself and her surroundings. She was a great mum, she really was, until out father died... She was pregnant with Leda when that happened, and the loss of her husband turned her a bit twisted. Vicious, I'd say.

"And then, she gave birth and to her great horror the baby was not _pure_. A freak of nature with unnatural colours, was what she thought of him. She hated him ever since she put eyes on him. All she said to the nurses who had delivered him when they tried to make her hold him was: _make scarce that horrid cast off_.

"The cast off... That became his name ever since that day – well, not officially. But whenever she referred to him behind closed doors, that was the case. That horrible nickname became the inspiration for her final naming of him. And it would never mean anything else to any of us, lest of all to _him_. Whenever he hear someone refer to him as Castor, all he can think of is her and her hatred.

"She really hated him, and if she'd ever have learned I would not acquire any magic in the future..."

Pollux sat silent for a couple of tense seconds, a silence that spoke more than any words ever could have, and Harry felt his heart quench in sympathy.

"Her abuse escalated," the other continued in a tense voice. "He was bruised black and blue, constantly. And then, one day, she crossed some sort of mental line and went completely berserk. Almost had him killed... The Ministry arrived, thank the chances for that, and we were eventually put into Foster Care, she into Azkaban, where she didn't last for long...

"We lived with our Foster Father until almost three years ago, now. He was far older than he looked and acted. A strange old codger whose mother had been a centaur. An uncommon combination, but he turned out all human, to his looks at least. He taught us all he knew in the line of Astrology."

"He sounds like a great man," Harry said, and instantly got a wide smile from the other.

"He really was," Pollux confirmed. "As soon as Leda learned more of the myths and the stars, he became completely obsessed. It didn't take long before he'd found a new name for himself. It's a bit ironic, really, that he choose _Leda_ of all things – mother to the brothers Castor and Pollux... It was a clear statement: he figured he didn't need a mother, but would be one for himself. He'd completely washed himself clean of our mother's tainted touch."

"Was that the point when he started giving other people nicknames as well?" Harry mused aloud, and the other smiled softly as if reminded of a pleasant memory.

"Yes... But he never did find one for me... I've always ever been just Pollux to him."

The early summer sun had finally setted under the horizon, and a sparkling sky of bright white stars had taken its place. The depths of the universe shone thought the walls all around them, making it feel to Harry as if he was in space. Finally, he understood the charm to this kind of house to the two Ledford brothers. Astrology wasn't a part of their lives, it _was _their lives. They lived and breathed it. It was as natural to them as eating or sleeping.

It must be a difficult life for Pollux, Harry thought sadly, being stuck in a magicless body with a brother excelling in the art of Divination, having all the magic in the world at his disposal.

"I believe it's safe to seek him out now," the other cut though his thought process suddenly. "Go back to the hall, then through the wall opposite the way out. Don't panic, just keep walking. Then, he's through the wall straight ahead."

Harry would have asked the other how he knew where his brother was, but Pollux was already on his feet, and quickly disappeared through one of the walls, walking to Merlin knows what part of the house, leaving his very sombre guest behind to follow instructions.

Harry slowly made his way out into the hallway, standing indecisive for a moment, figuring he _could_ simply leave now – there was no one there to stop him from departing. But he felt the need to clear things up with Leda first, so he turned his back on the way out and headed down the slim corridor towards the opposite wall.

The slim room he landed in had nothing in it but a very steep platform of glass, going straight upwards to some sort of second landing. It wasn't a staircase, because it had no steps, it was just a flat, steep surface. Harry hesitantly put one of his feet on it, and immediately, the world lurched, turning on edge, and he was standing on the now flat platform, looking ahead at the second landing that was now a sloping space a few paces ahead. Behind him, the previous floor he'd been standing on, was standing up in a vertical angle.

Remembering Pollux's words – _don't panic, just keep walking –_ Harry hurriedly made his way through the room and barely reacted at all as the room lurched a second time, before everything was in its proper place again, and he was standing on the first floor of the house. Just like on ground floor, the entire house was made in all glass. All around him, even more so when a little above ground, were the dark night sky covered with sparkling stars. It was a little unnerving, Harry thought, walking around on a transparent surface when a bit over the ground. It was easy to forget that there was actually a surface at all, and that he wasn't simply walking on air.

Walking straight ahead in the long corridor, Harry soon came to a dead end. Confident this was the wall Leda was hiding behind, Harry walked through it and was not disappointed.

In the middle of the square room, a square, all white bed stood. Leda laid sprawled out on top of it, his long pink hair fanning out on the sheets from the top of his head, his arms spread wide as he laid watching the stars above. Harry came to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down on the cool as a cucumber man, watching his contemplating, dreamy expression.

"I'm sorry."

He got no answer, no response at all, but Harry still felt the other had forgiven him despite this. There was something about the atmosphere between them telling him such.

They sat in silence for a bit longer, Leda watching the stars, Harry watching Leda.

"She needs to see you," the lounging man suddenly whispered, breaking their comfortable silence.

"Who?" Harry wondered, surprised. If he had expected the other to say anything to him, it hadn't been that.

"Gaia," Leda said with a soft, almost childish, smile on his face.

* * *

Harry was standing in the middle of the Godric's Hollow graveyard. In front of him, he had the tombstone of one of the best people he'd known, ever. A person he still mourned, terribly, and barely could speak of with others. Whose death still hurt him to the bone.

As per Leda's instructions, he had taken off the ring he carried on his right index finger, the ring he had gotten from the person he loved the most. He held it in his right hand, palm up and open. With his left hand, he flipped it over once.

Twice.

Thrice.

He looked ahead, wondering what would happen next.

The night sky seemed to shine a little more brilliantly, the moon seemed more golden, the air around him seemed a bit more sparkling. And then, it a swirl of magic golden light, she stepped forwards, her form fairly transparent, the skirt of her beautiful green dress flapping in the breeze.

Wet tears flowed down his flushing cheeks, his breath caught as he choked up, unable to form any other words than:

"_Lora!_"

* * *

_A/N: *Stops and stares at chapter* Bloody hell! How in the world did that mammoth of a chapter come to life? Unbelievable. I just had to stuff it all in there, didn't I? Oh well, hope you liked it. _

_Thank you for reviewing, reading, favouring and all other awesome things you do. It always makes me happy to just think of the people who actually like this crazy story. _

_Mischief managed! _


	11. Careless

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Eleven

_Careless_

* * *

As the days passed, becoming hotter and hotter as July crept closer, Harry became more and more ill. His energy completely left him, leaving his body constantly shivering with cold, aching all over, his muscles not much more than goo sticking to his bones.

And he knew why.

Ever since the day when he had figured out how to overpower the demon plaguing his mind, Voldemort had stepped up his game. In some inexplicable way, he had now gained so much power over Harry's body, he could weaken it from the inside. Like a freaking tick, like a leech, he clung to him and sucked him dry until he was left in this weakened state.

Harry found that in the moments of extreme fatigue, it was child's play for the other to get the upper hand, to take him over completely. Therefore, he was doing his best to take naps, keep his temper under control, drink Pepper Up Potions and the like, just to keep Voldemort off his back. It was a constant struggle, and it was taking its toll on his already stressed mind.

He spent every day at Riddle Manor, sitting inside in front of the fireplace, wrapped in blankets while working out the kinks in his theories. Despite the cold atmosphere between Tom and him, Harry felt at ease with the familiarity of it. He'd become accustomed to this new relationship of theirs, this new level of understanding that despite everything that had happened between them, they still cared enough for one another to keep it up. Their struggle to stay with each other. And as the days passed, both of them engrossed in their respective works of study, it almost felt like the good old times again.

Harry sometimes forgot that Tom was supposed to be angry at him, and gladly engaged him in discussions about how his own work was coming along, about what had happened over at the Ledfords' when he'd visited and overall chatter about the weather and what not. And every time Tom took the time to humour him, to answer and in turn ask questions, Harry felt his hope for their future return. Perhaps they could get through this after all was said and done.

He also felt a strong sense of relief each day at noon, when he usually arrived at the manor, simply because he did not have to pretend to be well. At home, with his loving and often over-protective family, he refused to let it show how far gone he'd become the past couple of days. If they knew, they'd never let him off the hook. They'd chain him to a bed before forcibly taking him to St. Mungo's for evaluation. And that way, he'd never get through with his plots and Voldemort would eventually win this power struggle of theirs. Hence Harry pretended as best he could.

In the evenings, he went to the graveyard of Godric's Hollow to see his diseased cousin.

_Lora._

He hadn't believed his eyes as he first caught sight of her shimmering form. It had felt like a painfully real dream, where he couldn't get a word out, he would just stand and stare at his surroundings. It was all so surreal. How she had just appeared out of nowhere, just from a few flips of a small ring.

She wasn't a ghost, she was sort of more corporeal than that. But she was still translucent. Her colouring could be seen, unlike all the ghosts Harry had ever met, but if he ever tried to touch her his hand would simply pass through her.

Even so, he had been so incredibly happy, thankful, to get to see her again. Her abrupt death had been extremely traumatic for him, having watched it happen in front of his very own eyes, incapable of changing it or doing anything about it. He had, of course, expressed his regrets to her, and had earned himself a violent, but painless, swat through the head for it. Lora clearly didn't blame him at all but found it almost insulting he would take the blame for something he had had nothing to do with.

His conversation with Harold the other day had come to mind, when he had claimed he'd stopped blaming himself, but it wasn't until now, when Lora herself had expressed her opinion, that he felt the truth in his confident words at the hospital. He had finally let it go.

So, here he was, once again, standing in front of Lora's grey tombstone, next to the one standing in front of the soil where they had laid her father only yesterday. The dirt was still dark and wet, emitting a fresh and sombre smell, the script on the stone so newly written shone brightly in the moonlight. The letters of _Leonard Potter_ standing out sharply, creating a stark contrast to the one for his daughter.

Harry took a deep breath and focused on the girl he longed to meet; flipping the ring in his hand over to make her appear before him.

It was a silent evening, neither wind nor wet in close proximity, and the sky was entirely clear of clouds, the stars and the big golden moon shining brightly, lighting up the entire graveyard around him.

And then, he breathed in as he felt the cool evening air swirl around him, the magic stirring the air, and he knew she was standing in front of him.

"Always this place, Harry? Isn't it a bit depressing?"

Harry smiled softly and opened his eyes, his smile widening, his chest prickling with affection as he caught sight of her slim form, forever captured in her great grandmother's green dress, her long black hair falling down her back in rich cascades.

"I like it here... it's calm. Comforting," he answered and went to sit down at one of the wooden benches lining the gravel path in the middle of the fenced area. Lora sat down next to him, and he raised his eyebrows when her body didn't go through the hard material. "That shouldn't be possible," he muttered, making Lora giggle amusedly at him with a knotted fist in front of her thin lipped mouth.

"I'm not corporeal, Harry," she answered in a teasing tone. "This is just a shadow of my former body; a suit I pull on whenever you call me here. I can shape it any way I want, place it wherever. I'm not really touching the surface of the bench, I'm sort of hovering over it."

"Oh," Harry answered, his heart beating fast in his chest as the subject closed in on what he had been both dying to ask, but still dreaded at the same time. He was desperate to know, but at the same time, he wasn't entire sure he _wanted_ to know.

Still, he'd had a couple of days to mull over it now, and he'd decided to push through his own anxiety this time.

"You're awfully silent today," Lora pointed out, smiling serenely, in that otherworldly way she so often did now when she wasn't alive any more. A small wrinkle materialized between her raven black brows, and a couple of children shouting to one another through open windows could be heard from the village centre. Harry could distantly smell the sweet scent of freshly picked lilacs.

"What happened?"

"What happened, when?" Lora asked in her slow, distant, slightly monotone voice.

"When you had died..."

Lora watched him with a tense expression for quite a while, possibly judging if he was ready to hear it or not, whether she should keep silent or not. Her small mouth shivered slightly as she made her decision.

"It was all a blur at first; a white blur. I could feel my body fall away, as if I had simply slipped out of a heavy set or robes, and then I was nothing more than soul. A light essence fleeting around. Content, calm... It was the best feeling I have ever felt, I think... I don't know if you can really grasp what I am now, Harry.

"I can't hear, I can't smell, can't feel... I can't see either. It's difficult to explain, but, even though I have lost every one of my senses... I can still experience, somehow... I still have a sense of self, I still hold my memories. It won't be long until they are gone too. I will forget, but I still _am_ Lora Potter."

"If you can't see, hear or feel anything," Harry began in a rough voice, second guessing his own decision to ask about death, "how do you _hear_ me, see me and just... How?"

"It's the magic of the ring," Lora explained in a quiet voice, looking at it resting in Harry's hand, as if she both loved and detested it at the same time. "It calls me back, makes my essence take form, puts my senses back in place... but I can't really use them. I still can't feel, taste or smell... But I do see, although it's blurry. I can hear, although it takes a long time for me to understand what it all means, just like it takes a long time to form the words I want to speak."

Harry nodded in understanding, now having an explanation to Lora's extremely slow way of speaking ever since this all began for the two of them.

"I am not what I was any more. I am not human, or a witch. I'm not even _myself _any longer... I have merged, in a way, with the essence of the world. I _am_ part of the world. The universe. I _am _the universe..."

"Leda called you Gaia," Harry whispered to himself, looking up at the crescent moon ahead. "The earth personified... The mother of all..."

His quiet speech hadn't reached Lora's numb ears, and so she continued as if he hadn't spoken at all. "It's like... I can't feel anything, but at the same time, I can feel everything. Everyone. I am everywhere, a part of everything... But I still hold a sense of self."

"But, you said it won't be for long," Harry spoke in a tone loud enough for the other to hear this time. As a response, Lora smiled ever so softly, looking serene – as if she longed for the day when she would no longer _be _Lora Potter, but somebody new.

"My essence is drifting apart, my soul is shifting, becoming something new... Fate is entwining me into its web, to make me fit, become somebody else with a new life. I will be reborn, very soon. But not until I have drifted apart completely, forgotten all my memories and left my old life behind."

"And I am stopping you," Harry concluded in a dull voice, trying to comprehend the greatness of life, thinking on the pointlessness of it if it was to be forgotten at the point of death anyway. Tom had reason to fear it, he thought with a slight sense of dread, if the life they were so desperately trying to cling onto was to be tarnished and forgotten in the end...

"You're not," Lora said very quietly. "One day, it will be done, and the ring won't work on me any more."

"When?" Harry asked, feeling his heart quench at the thought of losing his dear cousin once again.

"Soon," Lora simply answered, looking up at the stars with a dreamy expression on her translucent face.

* * *

It was a hot summer day, in the beginning of July, and the weather forecasters claimed the temperature had reached an all time high. War was over and the sun shone over the world like a sparkling star of victory, like a warming, glimmering sign of peace.

Despite this, some were less content with the outrageous heat than others. Inside the library of the lavish Riddle Mansion, two young wizards sat hiding away from the glaring sun; Tom dressed lightly and fanning himself with that day's newspaper; Harry bundled up in a bunch of blankets in one of the armchairs, sitting shivering in front of the lit fireplace, cold sweat breaking out all over his body.

In front of him, on the heavy coffee table, lay countless calculations, outlined theories and heavy tomes on soul magic. He'd become an expert after these many months of constant research and trials. He'd laid out many theories, most of them easily shot down by Tom's sharp critique, but one of them had stood out. Not even Tom had been able to find any fault with it, which had made him take immediate action. Only problem was: he was currently in a waiting process, having spent the last two days honing his finished product while waiting for the owl that would deliver the answer to the final problem.

Even though Harry had come this far, Tom had still kept up his own work and finished a theory of his own, completely ignoring the other's progress and keeping his thoughts to himself. Harry had no idea what the other idea consisted of, since Tom kept the little black notebook with all the calculations on his person constantly, never revealing a thing.

He had been keeping up his cold disposition ever since they left Hogwarts, but as of late, his mood had brightened up significantly, and he actually engaged Harry in a couple of short-lived conversations every now and then. At first, the responsibility of picking up a conversation had always lain on Harry's plate, but lately, Tom had shouldered the responsibility as well. It had completely befuddled him, of course, the stark contrast to his previous behaviour so great it could impossibly be ignored. But it was also such a relief, Harry felt no need whatsoever to complain or question – so he accepted the change with ease.

Today, Harry was even more worn out than usual. Despite having taken to sleeping over at the mansion most nights, just to spare his body the torture of travel, this had barely helped at all today as simply getting out of bed had been a losing fight. In the end, the Butler, old Mr Bryce, had had to help him both get up and get dressed. It had been extremely awkward on Harry's part. But, what could he do about it, really? Magic could only take him so far, after all, what point was there in levitating garments from off the floor when he couldn't even bend far enough to put on his own pants and socks?

After getting onto his two legs, his body waking up properly, he had regained his usual control, thankfully. But it had never been this bad before. It had gotten so far out of hand that even Mr Riddle had taken notice and circled around him for a while, questioning whether he should call for the family doctor. But Harry had politely declined, explaining that this was a magic related illness that Muggles could do nothing much about, which had made Mr Riddle kindly, but reluctantly, back off. Harry for his part had sighed in relief, and thanked all mercy he had been away from home when this had happened.

Therefore, Harry realised that it would be best if he didn't leave Riddle Manor until all of this was over, with the exception of visiting Lora in the graveyard of course.

Thankfully, no one seemed to mind his constant presence, weirdly enough, not even Tom. He just seemed to become happier and happier as the days passed, and today, he seemed outright _giddy_. He was sitting next to Harry in his own armchair, facing away from the fire and towards one of the open windows instead, still fanning himself with the newspaper, a pleased look colouring his face.

"I have completed my work," he suddenly stated, his lips twisting into a vain smile, his chin facing upwards.

"Let's hear it then," Harry answered in his rough, slightly weak voice, basking in the warm feeling he got from watching Tom in this relaxed and untroubled state. "You've been keeping it to yourself for so long, I thought you'd never tell me about it."

"What would be the point of that?" Tom scoffed in amusement and started tapping his fingers against the leather armrest, a sign of anxiety, Harry knew. That meant the other wasn't as confident as he tried to make it appear. "In order to banish the foreign soul piece out of your body, the most obvious solution is for you to create a Horcrux of your own," Tom said in a confident tone.

"Yeah, sure," Harry said hesitantly, "but didn't we already rule that one out, months ago, when Slughorn told us more about it?"

"Did you really think I would drop the subject just because you're afraid to get your hands dirty?" Tom answered in a teasing tone that had Harry's insides turn ice cold.

"Get my hands dirty... We're talking about _murder_ here, Tom, not some sort of Herbology lesson."

There was a drawn out, tense silence as Tom kept fanning himself slowly, his left eye twitching slightly as a brave sunbeam found its way through his dark lashes.

"Yes..." he said, still turned away so that all Harry could see was his head in profile. "Murder, well... If you'd like to see it that way. There's also the other end to it – saving a young boy from abuse. Something you've previously expressed a certain wish to do."

Tom had stopped his fanning, having put the newspaper to rest in his lap as his left hand instead had taken to tap its fingers restlessly against the leather armrest of the chair. Harry regarded him silently, trying to vainly figure out the answers to his many outraged questions before mindlessly blurting them. But in the end, he was too befuddled.

"You're speaking as if this is a plot where you're planning to murder _someone_, one certain person."

"Oh, _I_ am not going to murder anyone, Harry," Tom answered with a slight leer, his hand travelling upwards to his chin, so that he could lean on his elbow in a relaxed pose, finally turning around to face his friend. "You are," he concluded challengingly.

"Never," Harry said though clenched teeth, his daily headache beginning to cloud his mind as the prickle of annoyance started setting in. "I will not forsake my own solution just to travel down to the pits of the darkest of magic, killing somebody to save my own skin. No! Besides, there is no way to manipulate the Horcrux ritual to make sure that the piece of soul I rip out of myself is in fact not mine, but Voldemort's."

"What do you think I have been working on all this time, Harry," Tom said, raising his eyebrows in challenge. "It is most certainly possible, I assure you."

"I'll still not do it," Harry argued, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

"Not even if it would save your precious _Severus Snape_?"

Harry just stared at the other as his mind went though piece by piece of clue as to what Tom might be suggesting. Then, it hit him, the answer making his stomach churn in mixed excitement and nausea. "You want me to kill Tobias Snape..."

Tom didn't answer at once, simply twisting his mouth into a pleased smirk while watching him with intent eyes. "It would save your life, Harry. And Severus'... Besides, you wouldn't have to put up with Prince either that way..."

Harry swallowed against the tightness in his throat, his ears flushing uncomfortably hot as he caught on to the indications Tom made. If he got rid of Snape, he'd be free of Eileen, and he could pursue a relationship with his best friend instead...

Suddenly, a certain memory popped up into his mind, taking him back to the day he'd visited the Ledfords.

"_Fate is completely static while chance is a dynamic force," Pollux had said. "All that fate deals with is birth and death. When you are born, when you give life and when you die are the only things in the world that is completely set in stone. Everything else, every little detail and occurrence leading you on your path towards your fate, is decided by chance."_

The churning in Harry's stomach sank away, the heat colouring his ears slowly easing. "It won't work," he stated, meeting eyes with the other bravely. "Snape is fated to die in 1976. No matter how hard I try, I won't be able to kill him. Fate will not allow it."

"Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?" Tom said, his voice coated with amusement, as if Harry was pulling his leg.

"I'm not joking," Harry stated coldly, turning back to his completed calculations to re-read them for the umpteenth time.

"You can't seriously mean to say you are not going to do this, _not_ based on some sort of moral complex of yours, but instead because of something of which the lunatic _Leda_ has convinced you of."

Tom was scowling darkly at him now, still not convinced in the least of the validity of what Harry had told him about Fate and Chance. In fact, he'd rather treated it as a laughing matter, preferring to ridicule it instead of accepting it. Harry, of course, wasn't surprised – this was something Tom had done many times before, after all. Every time he'd been challenged with something he himself had a strong opinion about. The value of women, the possibility of another explanation to Harry's state as a Parselmouth, the thought of some knowledge being better left alone because of its destructive nature...

But, as always, Harry would stand tall to challenge him out of the comfort zone. "I assure you," he began in a cold tone of voice, "there are moral points to my decision as well. But above all, the risk is too great. Because I can't possibly succeed, as I am convinced I can't, I will most likely be stopped by law. I might get arrested and thrown into Azkaban, Tom. Murder isn't only wrong by my moral standards, it's also against the law, if you hadn't known..."

"You're being paranoid," Tom scoffed, although the humour didn't reach all the way into his dark eyes.

"I'm not," Harry concluded confidently. "Besides, I find my own conclusion far better. Why, not even _you_ could find a flaw with it. With a Necromancer at our side, it all will fall into place."

"It will take too long," Tom exclaimed impatiently, raising his voice slightly, signalling a lack of control. "I will not sit around, rolling my thumbs while you could lose your own body any moment. Just look at you!" he expressed, casting a meaningful glare at the thick blanket coating Harry's shivering form. "You're a wreck!"

"It's not as bad as it looks," Harry contradicted calmly, conjuring a glass of water with a flick of his wand before taking a slow sip of it.

"It is _exactly_ as bad as it looks," Tom hissed angrily, his hands clenching the leather armrests harshly as if to hold him back from jumping to his feet.

Harry just shook his head slowly and vanished the glass of water. "Look, we've still got time. I'm far stronger than you think. And with a little help from our friends, it won't be too long before we've made the necessary connections. I sent the owls just two days ago. They will get back to us any moment now. We've already got answers from both Aby and Silsel already, although they couldn't help us... But perhaps Al, or Romulus..."

"I've waited enough!" Tom exclaimed, finally flying to his feet, coming to stand immediately in front of Harry, leaning over him with both hands clutching the backrest of the sofa, on each side of his head. "Do you really think I will let you go just like this? I can _make you_ do what I want. It's very simple."

"I'm not a murderer, Tom," Harry said tensely, his chest fluttering nervously at the other's proximity.

"I don't care what you think you are," he hissed coldly, leaning even further in. "Under my imperious, you will be whatever I want you to be."

"Would you really do it, Tom, even though you know that I would hate you for it?" Harry wondered, both anticipating and dreading the answer.

"I would," Tom said coldly. "I will. Because it will save you. I'd rather have you hating me than having you dead."

"I'd rather die than kill someone," Harry concluded quietly, swallowing nervously as Tom leaned in so far their breaths mingled between them.

"I won't give you that choice," he whispered, his lips barely moving against the intimacy between them. Harry could both feel and hear his own heart beat speed up, ringing loudly inside of his flushed ears. The chilling breeze from the open windows hit his sweating neck, making a shiver run down his spine. The warmth from the blazing fireplace in front of him made him shift uncomfortably as the warm body hovering over his raised his body temperature to alarming levels.

The silence between them had been too long. Harry would have to say something, but every coherent thought seemed to have left his mind the second he felt Tom's breath on his face. He could only sit still in mixed dread and eagerness as the soft, cool lips in front of him closed in on his, making an explosion of feelings emerge in the depth of his guts.

He was light-headed, shivering, eager. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help meeting the slow, tantalizing movements of the kiss with his own. It felt far too good. Far too right. It felt like something he'd thought he'd tasted before, but at the same time knew he hadn't, which made the experience both familiar and exciting beyond belief.

This was nothing like the kiss they'd shared once before. Perhaps it was because they were both sober, perhaps it was because Harry was responding this time around, or perhaps it was because this time it had come to a point when they couldn't hold themselves back any longer...

Harry knew he should stop, but he couldn't. It wasn't even an option. He would never stop.

But then, the lips connected to his stopped on their own anyway, left his little cocoon of warmth and then, Tom was walking away from him.

_Just like last time_, Harry's sluggish mind supplied not so helpfully.

"Tom," Harry called out, wincing and clearing his throat as his voice broke awkwardly. The other stopped in the doorway, not turning around, but showing he was listening. "You won't have to. Force me, that is."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked in a very controlled voice.

"If I won't make it in time. If Voldemort is winning... I'll let you carry out your plan. I'll let you _imperio_ me... If I promise you that, will you give me more time? Will you let me try it my way first?"

Harry held his breath as he watched the other stand still in indecision, twirling the wand between his fingers as he thought. It didn't take very long.

"As you wish."

And with that, he was out the door.

* * *

Later on that day, Harry felt much better. He'd received an owl from his mother begging him to visit his grandmother, as none other in the family had the time to look after her tonight. Harry had accepted, of course, what else could he do. And it wasn't exactly like he had anything better to do until he would get to see Lora again at ten, or so.

It was also a good idea because, well, after what had happened between Tom and him in the library, things had gotten a bit tense, one could say. Tom was back to his cold old self, probably feeling deeply betrayed his work had become second best choice, as well as feeling angry at the reminder the kiss had been a step over the line for their current relationship, and could become nothing more than a mistake.

Harry, on the other hand, did not feel angry. He felt ashamed at his own actions. He should have been able to push Tom away, to stop it all. As it was now, it felt like he'd been doubly cheating. He'd betrayed Eileen by kissing Tom in the first place, and he'd also betrayed Tom by encouraging him. Giving him false hope.

He also felt a strangely content. Happy. And that, if anything, scared him so badly he had to get out of the house and stay away from temptation, at least for a day or so. He'd sent Eileen an owl, asking her to meet him in Diagon Alley for a luncheon the next day. Hopefully, by meeting with her, he could get his feelings straight. Literally.

Therefore, he bade farewell to Tom and his father, assuring he'd return in a day or so, and left. He arrived in Godric's Hollow with a dull crack and immediately made for his grandmother's house. He walked up the gravel path to the front door of the blue little cottage and knocked thrice. As he stood outside waiting, he took the time to admire the many bushes of roses the garden was littered with. Someone must be taking their time caring for them quite often – they were beautifully groomed and in full bloom. Harry was glad, it was sure to please the old lady in the house; Grandma Bella had always loved her roses.

The door creaked open and the old, dark-eyed woman stood squinting out at him, her back very crooked as she stood leaning heavily on a thick, wooden cane.

"Harold?" she asked in a shrill voice that made Harry wince.

"No, Grandma, it's Harry."

"Harry?" Grandma Bella asked with a surprised expression, raising a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the rays of the setting sun.

"Yes," Harry said with a smile. "May I come in?"

"Yes, of course," the old lady croaked, smiling a bit shakily, "come on in. Would you care for some tea? Biscuits?"

As his grandmother led the way into the living room, Harry watched her walk very slowly, but steadily. She seemed to be very weakened, but still her sturdy old self.

Once seated in the plush, old sofas, adorned with loads of pillows, wrapped up in knitted pillowcases in varying colours, she waved her wand in the air and looked very annoyed when nothing happened.

"Harry, would you be a lamb and get the tea for me?" she asked, sounding a bit bitter, and Harry immediately did as told. A steaming hot tea pot zoomed into the room, two cups and a little jar of biscuits following suit.

The old lady seemed to be faring quite well, and Harry was glad to see that she could manage most things around the house entirely on her own. He started to suspect it was in fact Grandma Bella herself who had tended the garden so beautifully. Last time he had seen her, at Uncle Leonard's funeral, she had seemed so weak and out of it – not at all like the attentive and agile old woman who now sat in the sofa next to him. He was glad to see the change.

Something that wasn't going as well for her was the magic. Ever since the loss of her husband, her magical powers had visibly diminished, with the darkening of her once pale blue eye-colour. It seemed her power level had now almost hit rock bottom as she failed over and over again to complete the simplest of tasks. It quite obviously agitated her, as she had once been one of the most powerful witches in the country, her political influence in the magical society well known. And now, she was reduced to this. Harry feared that therein lay most of the reasons why her seemed so sullen and sad.

Her mind was still clear, though, and she happily engaged Harry in stories of her glory days; when she was a sturdy Ministry Worker, bossing that time's Minister around whenever she felt like it; when she met James and how he hated her at first, but how he came around once she'd been away travelling for a month and realized he'd missed her.

Surprisingly, Harry had had a wonderful time at his grandmother's, and wouldn't mind visiting the next day, if he could. But the handsome grandfather clock in the corner was closing in on ten, and it was time for him to leave.

But when he'd made his excuses and was about to arise from the plush, pink sofa, Grandma Bella grabbed a firm grasp of his wrist to keep him back. The look she gave him was one he'd seen before on her face, occasionally, whenever she had something very important and insightful to say.

"You are in pain," she stated calmly, and skimmed her eyes over his face and torso, as if she tried to read the truth in his very skin.

Harry knew there was no point in denying it, he'd only get ignored anyway, so he nodded slowly in response. "Yes," he admitted.

She grunted thoughtfully, meeting his eyes head on with a look of purest concern. "You yourself are the cause of your pain."

Harry figured she wasn't talking about the pain Voldemort caused him, so he nodded again, although a bit hesitantly this time.

"The most important thing, Harry, is to listen. Truly listen to what is best, what your heart is telling you. No one other than you can know and decide that, so you will have to do it for yourself."

"But what about loyalty?" Harry asked, swallowing against his suddenly very dry throat. "What about responsibility?"

"And who has given you this responsibility, Harry?" Grandma Bella asked, leaning forwards to point a wrinkled but sharp finger into his chest.

Harry looked down at the digit, poking uncomfortably at his ribcage, and then up at his grandmother again. "Are you telling me to be selfish, Grandma?"

The old lady smiled at him and let the hand travel up his neck to lay to rest against his cheek in an affectionate gesture. "I am telling you to live, Harry," she said calmly. "You have one chance at life, so it is essential you make the most of it. There will be no next time. If you hold yourself back now, when will you ever have the chance again to do what _you_ want?"

Harry didn't know what to say, he felt speechless. His grandmother was essentially telling him he was living his life wrongly. That he was causing himself great pain. And Harry could only figure one point in his life that he sorely regretted he hadn't treated differently – his relationship with Tom.

So what it boiled down to was that the wise old lady, that held his cheek so lovingly, was telling him to forsake Eileen. To be selfish, and forget about Severus altogether. To follow his heart and choose to be with Tom.

But a big part of him was screaming at him to stop having these thoughts, that he couldn't just forsake the very man that saved him – more than once. That he couldn't just leave Eileen, who had come to adore and respect, to a life of abuse and poverty.

He opened his mouth wide, but it was hard to speak. "I," he began. "I just..."

"There, there," Grandma Bella said, her sharp and attentive tone of voice back. "No need to think too hard on it, not right now. Take your time. But now I think it's about time you leave, wasn't there somewhere you wanted to be at ten – why ever you would want to go _anywhere_ at this hour when one should be tucked into bed, I do not understand."

Harry was kindly, but roughly, shoved out of the house after that, barely making it out the door before it slammed shut on him with a gruff "Good night" from his grandmother. It was with a soft, grateful smile that Harry walked out of the rose garden and towards the old graveyard of the Hollow.

* * *

The evening breeze was bitter this night, and Harry shivered as it chilled him to the bone, his already broken down body refusing to get accustomed to it, even with a warming charm to his outer cloak. It was time to leave.

He looked at Lora's transparent form, sitting next to him on the graveyard bench, as per usual. Her body, forever captured in her 17 year old self with a beautiful green dress and wild, dark black hair, seemed far more translucent than ever tonight. And her face was set into a solemn expression. It felt like she was very sad about something, and Harry felt almost guilty to be leaving her behind in this state.

"It's time for me to leave," Harry said in an excusing manner, watching the delayed reaction of his cousin as the sound finally reached her ears and she turned her head to face him.

"It was great seeing you, Harry, as always."

"I'll be back tomorrow, as always," Harry promised and arose from the bench, raising his arms high above his head in a stretch. It would be wonderful to crawl down under the thick covers of a warm bed – his own bed for once.

"No, you won't," came Lora's dreamy voice from behind him, making him turn around in surprise. "This will be our last time."

"Whatever do you mean?" Harry wondered, sitting down again, slowly, a strong ripple of sorrow coursing through his body.

"Just what I said," Lora answered, the sad expression suddenly making sense. What she said was true, only, she didn't want it to be. "Tomorrow, it will all change, and we won't get any more time together."

"Why, what will happen tomorrow? Will you get re-born?"

"No," Lora said with an amused smile. "Not yet... But Harry, you must listen to me, very closely. I have something of great importance to tell you, so please, let me speak without interruptions."

Stunned, Harry nodded his promise and watched as his faded cousin took a deep breath, although he wasn't sure if it would help her or not.

"As I once told you, the state of life and the world is very clear to me, as I am now a conscious part of it. There are two forces of life, as I know Leda and Pollux has already told you: chance and fate. And as you know, you have pulled free of your fated death because you travelled back in time. What you don't know about are the consequences this has had for the people around you.

"First, Tom. He does not have a fate either. The two of you, your souls, are connected by powerful magic. This tie constantly affects his position in this world, as well as yours. What's more is that your presence here has affected the fates of the people connected to you by blood as well. That means, your parents, my parents, your _real_ parents... All their fates have been rewritten. Mine probably was as well. If I was supposed to die this young or not, I will never know. Perhaps I was, perhaps I wasn't... But that isn't important. The important thing is that all of these people who are connected to you, Harry, you can change their fates.

"This also means that the people who are _not_ connected to you still have the same fates as always... I know what you are trying to do, and I admire you for it, but... You can not change the fate of Eileen Prince, Harry. You just can't. She is fated to have a child with Tobias Snape. Severus Snape is fated to get born – he is out here, with me, waiting for his time. It has to be done. Only then, you can change his life, by manipulating chance... But you can't fight fate, Harry, it's impossible."

* * *

Harry was lying face down in his warm, cosy bed. He knew it was late, but his body didn't seem to want to cooperate with him. Thankfully, he would get away with snoozing today, since his family still wasn't home, and wouldn't be until the day after tomorrow. Harold was away having a sort of Quidditch camp with a couple of friends of his from Hogwarts. And their parents were away, travelling around Scotland for a couple of days, having some private quality time together.

So Harry was left to his own devices, being completely free to stay in bed as long as he wanted – even Tom wouldn't pester him, as he had told him he wouldn't get back to Riddle Manor until later that afternoon. He could just sleep some more, regain his powers, and then...

Terrified, Harry raised his head from out of the thick pillow, staring in disbelief at the clock on his bedside table.

Noon!

Eileen!

He was going to be so late!

Scrambling out of bed, almost tipping over as his low blood pressure made his head swim, he hastened to get ready. Shirts and shoes flew around him, trying their best to look the most attractive for him so that he would choose them. Soaps, brushes of various kind and even bottles of his mother's perfume started chasing him around as he made his way into the bathroom and threw himself into the shower.

Finally dressed, groomed and ready, he was very very late. As he emerged via floo in the Leaky Cauldron, he was later still. When he, at last, turned up at Eileen's and his meeting spot, outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, he was oh so, so very late.

To his immense relief, and wonder, Eileen still stood waiting for him, and sour expression on her long face, a melting strawberry sorbet struggling for air in her hand.

"Eileen!" he called out, running, as best he could, to meet her. Her expression soured further, if that even was possible, as she caught sight of him, and her mouth twisted into a chilly smile.

"Harry, there you are," she said holding out the ice cream in her hand for him to take. "Here," she said bitterly. "I bought you one as well."

"I'm terribly, terribly sorry," Harry begged, reluctantly accepting the weeping candy. "I overslept."

"Oh, I see," Eileen muttered, turning on her heel, walking down the twisted road of Diagon, Harry scrambling to life behind her to try and keep up with her brisk pace. When they came to the lunch place where Harry had half-planned for them to eat, Eileen simply passed it by, not giving it a glance, and he followed her without complaint. She obviously had something of her own planned for them.

On their way, every one of Harry's tries to pick up conversation was shot down by an impatient hand gesture from Eileen, silently begging for him to shut his mouth. Affronted, but still curious, Harry did as told and didn't speak one word until they arrived at an old, shaded park of oak trees, seemingly having sprung up out of nowhere in the middle of the alley. What he said then was: "I didn't know this was here..."

Eileen led him to one of the park benches, with an annoyed pull on his right sleeve, and sat down on it. Harry looked around at the wild scenery they'd happened upon, looking up into the depths of the tree branches, watching little blue birds jump from twig to twig, twittering merrily.

He was startled as something cold and wet started cascading down his left hand. "Er," he said, licking melted strawberry ice cream from off the back of his hand. "Look, I appreciate the gesture but... I'm not really that, er, I mean. It was kind of you to buy one, but..."

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" Eileen exclaimed and vanished the melted candy with a sharp twist of her slim, hawthorn wand.

"Sorry," Harry said, feeling like a huge, bumbling idiot. "Can't seem to do anything right today..."

The silence between them became drawn out, and Eileen refused to meet his eyes. Something was definitely wrong.

"I was surprised by your owl yesterday," she suddenly said, face still turned away, her tone cold.

"You were?" Harry said, relieved it seemed to be alright to speak now. "Well, I did promise to write you, didn't I?"

"You did," Eileen agreed crisply. "But this was the one and only time you did so, wasn't it?"

"What are you saying?" Harry wondered, his stomach clenching in worry. "Should I have written sooner? If you thought so, why didn't you write?"

"Because," Eileen intoned, glaring upwards at the birds above as one of them let out a particularly shrill screech. "Because, I wanted to see how long it would take for you to do so... Almost a month, Harry, congratulations, you definitely exceeded my expectations."

"No, wait a second, that wasn't..." Harry stuttered, caught off guard. "I had... I didn't think...I was busy!"

"Yes, but isn't it curious," Eileen hissed out viciously, "that all the while you've been this _busy_, with something you refuse to tell me about, you didn't even see it fit to call out to me so that I could be there for you. Not once! You just sit on your bum and expect nothing more out of me than to happily be your _girlfriend_, whatever that means to you, and then meet with you whenever you feel like it. Well, let me tell you, that isn't good enough!"

Eileen flew to her feet and started to march away, but Harry hurried after, stopping her with a grip around her wrist. "Eileen, wait! Please, let me make this right," he called out, but she only looked at him with contempt in her eyes.

"I once found your insecure and shy ways sweet, Harry, in the beginning when we started going out. Because you were _trying_, then. You were doing your best to be with me. You _wanted _to back then. But now..."

"I want to be with you," Harry argued, but only succeeded in making the other even angrier, as she pulled her wrist free and pierced him with a glare from the pits of hell.

"Don't. Lie. To. Me," she said through clenched teeth, backing away slowly. "I don't know why you went through all this trouble, but I don't think you ever did. You were just leading me on. Don't deny it, I deserve that much. Now leave me alone, Harry. It's over."

With a last glare of the utmost hate, Eileen turned on her heel, and ran.

* * *

_A/N: I'm so happy to be writing again. The hold up has been much too long. Hope I get to keep this up. I also hope you enjoyed the chapter. _

_Thank you, all of you, for the support and the kind reviews you've sent me. _

_Mischief managed! _


	12. What I Became Because of You

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Twelve

_What I Became Because of You_

* * *

His light summer boots hit the gravel road harshly as he travelled back to Riddle Manor, making it from his Apparition point in the forest to the open landscape around the highest point of the village. The brilliant summer sun shone brightly on his sweating neck and he pulled at his collar to loosen it further. He had already shrunken his outer cloak to make it fit into his pocket, but the heat was still unbearable for him. He was boiling!

And the flies. Oh, the flies. They were freaking everywhere.

Harry swatted a few of them away, but they stubbornly returned to pester him, as if he were one of the Riddle family's well-bred horses frothing at his grass-stained mouth. Such a bother!

With a well-aimed swirl and flick of his wand and a muttered "_praetorridus a'ris_", the flies surrounding him stopped their buzzing and fell to the ground as one, burned to death.

Harry hastened to put his wand away, hoping no Muggle had happened to see him, but he didn't seem to be close enough to the town yet for curious eyes to have caught sight of his careless actions. Without a care for the burned insects, he stepped over the circle of them littering the ground, and carried on towards the mansion.

He was in a terrible mood. It was too bloody hot outside, his head was killing him, Voldemort seemed to be extra vigorous today, he was heading towards a house where he'd probably sit around waiting for something to happen all day, and Eileen had bloody dumped him. _She_ had dumped _him_!

Why couldn't they all see Harry was the one trying to do the right thing around here? No, but instead, they were all acting as if he was being the villain or something. Like he was in the wrong and should straighten out his actions.

All he'd ever wanted was to be useful, to be somebody his friends could count on, someone who could help them. But, apparently, people didn't appreciate his efforts. It was bloody frustrating, in Harry's opinion, and short-sighted. And just-

Couldn't they see what he had been sacrificing for this to work?

No, apparently not... Apparently, he was the_ bad_ guy. Apparently, he was the one living his life wrongly, who tried to make something work that would never succeed.

What was the point of it all, really?

Silas thought he was being miserable, Grandma Bella had accused him of torturing himself and Lora had dismissed all his efforts as unnecessary and stupid. Well, not stupid, exactly... But that was what it boiled down to, wasn't it? That the people around him thought he was acting stupidly.

If he thought seriously about it, he really could see where they all were coming from, even though they didn't know all the details... But if he really stopped and reconsidered, he felt a deep sense of dread. Disgust at what he'd become, at all the manipulation he'd used to meet his own ends. It had all been born out of a wish to help people, to change things, to make it all better. But in the end, that didn't seem to be the right way... People didn't want to be saved – they wanted to be free to save themselves, if they could.

So, Harry didn't think too hard. He didn't think at all. Not at this moment.

He was preferring to be angry. It hurt far less...

Kicking at the gravel under his feet, Harry made it up the neatly raked path towards the mansion's front door. His headache was getting worse by the second, partly fuelled by his outraged fury, but also due to Voldemort's very peculiar _mood_.

He was just about to open up the door when a dirty grey creature took a dive at him, its sharp talons spread wide, its fuzzy wings flapping wildly. He would have dodged, but he recognized it to be an owl, just seconds before it landed and promptly dug its sharp claws into his left shoulder.

Letting out a pained whimper, Harry snatched the scroll of parchment it was carrying and then hurriedly swatted it away from his person. It flew with an indignant screech, and Harry sent it a glare before he opened up the front door and simply walked inside.

Mr Bryce met him in the hallway, a look if indignation colouring his face at the nerve of someone simply entering the great _House of Riddle_ without at least knocking. Then, he recognized it was only Harry.

"Oh, it's you," he said in his gruff voice, before clearing his throat and straightening up. "His Lordship is occupied doing business, upstairs in the conference room... But I would assume, you are not here for him, but for Young Master Tom, isn't that right, Mr Potter?"

"Always so formal, Bryce," Harry answered distractedly, unscrolling his letter at the same time, giving a humoured little smile when the butler let out a little huff of air, showing his annoyance at the disrespectful tone.

What was written on the short note made his smile twist into a genuine, sparkling grin. Good news at last! He could kiss Alfred! Well, perhaps not, but still!

Meeting eyes with the sour looking butler, Harry waved with the letter in his hand eagerly, rocking on the heels of his boots. "Yes, I'm here for Tom. Where is he? He needs to see this!"

"Very well, if you would follow me..." Mr Bryce drawled, turning around sharply to lead the way upstairs to the second level of the building, which probably meant Tom was, quite predictably, in the library.

As Harry eagerly set his first foot on the bottom step, his leg lost all its strength and bent beneath him, sending him down to land painfully on his side, his head hitting the railing in the fall.

He heard Mr Bryce distantly, calling out his name, but all he could do was laugh. Laugh loudly, and viciously, with a voice not his.

And then, the pain became too much, too head splitting, and he fell into darkness...

* * *

The first thing he saw, as he woke up with a start, was Tom's concerned face. That was, if one knew what to look for in his expression to find the concern, one would notice the slight furrow of the brows, the firm set to the mouth and the restless eyes. As he realised Harry had woken up, though, his expression hardened. Within seconds, he had risen to his full height from his hunched position, and snatched away the hand that had previously been occupied caressing Harry's cheek comfortingly. The spot where it had lain felt very cold as it disappeared.

Harry's light green eyes were swimming, and the lids clenched together in response to the bright daylight that filtered through the open windows of the ground floor sitting room. He was sprawled out over one of the stiff velvet sofas, a frilly ornamental cushion holding his head up slightly, and there was some sort of wet cloth soaking his sore forehead.

Around him stood a highly annoyed Tom, with his back turned, a sneering Mr Bryce, shooing away a couple of house maids peeking through the door to the kitchens, and a very concerned looking Lord Tom Riddle Sr. Well, he wasn't standing per se, but sitting down in his wheelchair, naturally.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Tom Sr asked as he rolled himself closer to get a better look at the misery. Well, that was what Harry felt like at the moment. Right out miserable. Everything went wrong today...

"Yeah, sure, I'm fine," he muttered and sat up as best he could, hissing in pain and falling back down on his elbows as he was half-way up.

"Easy, easy," the older man berated him quietly, laying a heavy hand onto his left shoulder. "I dare say, young man, you gave us quite the fright. Now, please rest. You look worse for wear, I'm afraid. Should I call the doctor? Now, don't you come with your excuses again."

"I'm fine," Harry argued placidly, trying to sit up fully, although the hand on his shoulder held him back. "I swear it. There's no need for worry, it's not the first time it happens."

"But I daresay it is the first time you end up with a cracked skull, Harry. Please, let Bryce call for the doctor. I must insist!"

"It's fine, I don't need help," Harry argued in a sterner voice and finally managed to sit up fully, resting his sore back carefully against the backrest of the sofa. Tom followed his movements with narrowed eyes. So did his father. They all twitched in surprise as the wet cloth on Harry's forehead came loose and landed in his lap with a thick _splat_.

"I would have to argue that you do," Tom Sr insisted and turned his head to address his son. "Do you not think so too, Tom? Does he not look done in to you too?"

Instead of answering, Tom flipped around and walked over the room to come stand immediately in front of Harry's sitting form, pointing threateningly with the yew wand right between his light green, surprised eyes. "This has gone on long enough," he hissed, his father raising his eyebrows in surprise, for also he knew that Tom only ever used Parseltongue when he either was so angry he couldn't hold it back, or when he wanted to keep something secret from everyone but Harry.

Only Harry knew it was almost always a mixture of both. And because of that sparkling anger shining through so clearly to him, the threatened wizard stiffened in quiet fear. He knew what was coming.

"Tom, please wait," he begged, holding up his hands in surrender. The other was at his last tether and had begun building up strength to perform the Imperius Curse. And that would be the end of it, Harry wouldn't get his chance and fate would win. He'd agreed to let himself get Imperiused as a last resort, just because he knew it would never work. It would all be over if it came down to that; they would lose the mission and Tobias Snape would live. It just wasn't his time to die yet. And that was why Harry had found it in him to agree, because he wouldn't become a murderer either way. And neither would Tom. They wouldn't succeed. Voldemort would win, and Harry would cease to exist. Which was why he couldn't let himself surrender just yet – he had to try, they were so close to the end, he couldn't just give in now.

"I've done my waiting," Tom hissed viciously and raised his wand to perform the wand movements, eyes shining deep, deep green. "_Imperio!_"

With a final burst of strength, Harry threw himself to the side, rolled painfully onto the floor and raised his wand in defence.

Tom's spell missed its target.

With an otherworldly fury twisting his handsome features beyond recognition, he whirled around and aimed with his wand once again. "You said you wouldn't fight me," he hissed and Harry felt his heart stop in ice cold fear.

Behind them, Mr Bryce had turned around at the display of magic, shielding his eyes with his bare hands, chanting "oh my Lord, oh my Lord, oh my Lord" under his breath, over and over again. Lord Riddle was white as a sheet where he sat, staring with wide eyes at his wand wielding son, his mouth a firm, drawn out line on his face.

"Tom, please, hear me out," Harry panted, sweat dripping down his forehead with an alarming speed, soaking his shirt right around the collar. He swallowed thickly and accioed Tom's wand when he didn't get an answer. The other just stood still, letting it happen as Harry caught the airborne wand with a shaky hand, and then slowly got to his feet.

"I can't believe you lied to me," Tom whispered in a rough voice, looking stunned, beyond angry. "I can't believe it, not about _that_. It's not like you..."

"Wait, just a second, I didn't lie," Harry claimed hurriedly, locking eyes with those of the other to show his sincerity beyond empty words. "I won't fight you, I swear it. But it's not over yet! Look at that parchment over there, at the table. We've gotten our letter." He pointed with a shaky hand and watched as Tom did as told with slow, monotonous movements. Not until he had picked up the parchment and begun reading did Harry let himself relax. He promptly slumped down onto the sofa in a sweating, shivering heap. Tom's wand fell to the floor with a soft clatter, the owner immediately picking it up like a ruffled mother hen. Harry closed his eyes against the pain.

Tom Sr was on him immediately, wiping the wet away with the cool cloth against his forehead, all in tense silence. Harry was too tired to shove him off.

"I see," Tom simply said once he'd finished reading the letter, letting it fall back down onto the low table on its own accord. "And what are you planning to do now?"

"Well, I'm going to pay her a visit, aren't I? Fred included a photo as well. It'll be easy just to apparate there," Harry claimed confidently, far more confidently than he felt was realistic. He could barely move as it was, after all. Those thoughts in mind, he dug his hand into the pocket of his trousers, fishing out a small, crystal bottle of bright yellow potion. Using Pepper Up Potion to cure his cold symptoms of fever and lightheadedness wasn't ideal, he knew, for it would make scorching hot steam come out of his ears for about five hours afterwards. But having no other choice, and being confident the other party wouldn't mind at all, he uncorked the bottle and downed its innards of slow-running goo. It tasted as horrifying as ever.

"That potion is hardly going to help. You can barely stand on your feet," Tom observed lazily as Harry arose from the sofa, swaying slightly and flinching in pain as hot steam started to scorch the insides of his ears. The pain soon subsided, though, as his ears went numb. Thankfully, he would still be able to hear, at least well enough.

"I can stand," he contradicted in a cheery tone and grinned mischievously at his brooding friend. "Let's go get rid of this bastard once and for all."

"Hold on, both of you," Lord Riddle exclaimed in a disbelieving voice. "You can't possibly mean to suggest you are leaving this house when Harry is in this state? He's clearly not fit for... whatever it is you are going to –"

"I'm fine, _my lord_," Harry interrupted and made a sweeping bow towards the older man, still grinning from ear to ear.

"You most certainly are not!" he insisted harshly in a tone reminding Harry slightly of his son speaking Parseltongue. It was scary how alike they were at times...

"Well, if that is how it is," Tom drawled, ignoring his father completely, and walked across the room to come stand at Harry's immediate left. "Let's get this over with."

Smiling as if he'd won the grandest prize, Harry led the way out of the room, laughing quietly under his breath as Lord Riddle shouted his objections after them as they went.

"Hold it right there! You two, stop! STOP! You're not going anywhere until you tell me exactly – now you listen to me! WAIT!"

"I'm sorry, Father," Tom called behind him as they stepped out the front door, "but the waiting time is over."

* * *

Struggling through the choking fear of claustrophobia that always accompanied him whenever he travelled through means of Apparition, clutching Tom's hand to side-along him, clutching the photograph in the other hand to keep the destination clear in mind, Harry was pushed through space to suddenly appear with a dull crack in the outskirts of a murky forest. All around them were pine trees, but straight ahead a clearing could be spotted. And beyond that: a small village close to the nearby sea. The wind carried the sound of waves crashing against the shoreline, pewits laughing away, and the air carried the sure smell of salt water.

Harry started trekking out of the woods, searching with a slightly blurred gaze across the flat landscape for the white brick house portrayed in the picture, listening with fuming ears to the restful stillness surrounding them. He soon found they were not far from their goal, it being a bit further to the east, apart from the other houses clinging to each other by the shore. The Melpomene home was bigger than the others, although, not even nearly as large as Riddle Manor. It had its own little garden, decorated with many a birch and flowerbed after flowerbed of pearl white Daisies, swirling paths of small white pebbles separating them from each other.

The stones grinded against one another as Harry's rough summer boots walked the path up to the door, Tom following close behind in silence. A sure knock on the light blue door and a stiff silence as no one answered for them immediately, the lingering quiet seemed uncanny.

When they had had the time to look at each other in unease, silently questioning each other what to do next, the door creaked open slowly and the little, piggy nose of a house-elf stuck out. "Yes?" it squeaked in a high pitch tone. "Who's it out there?"

"Harry Potter and Tom Riddle," Harry answered politely, supporting his swaying body with a hand on the door-frame. "We've come to see Serena. It's quite urgent..."

"I beg your forgiveness, Messrs Potter and Riddle, but Master and the missus isn't in. They are off to work, at the Ministry of Magic, just like all weekdays at this time, sirs." The little elf stuck its squishy little head out the door opening, piercing the both wizards with its huge, sparkling eyes.

Frowning in thought, Harry turned to his companion slowly. "What day is it?"

Tom gave him a pitying look and crossed his arms lazily. "Tuesday," he drawled and swept his eyes over the slowly rocking ocean, sparkling from the rays of the bright summer sun.

"Oh," Harry said, feeling quite foolish for a second, before he realized he hadn't heard of Serena getting a job already. Didn't she want to have the summer off? And why work at the Ministry? Hadn't her dream always been to become an artist? "I'm sorry, we never knew she'd be gone today."

"But you're both friends of the missus, sirs?" the elf squeaked excitedly, opening up the door fully and stood jumping up and down on the threshold in obvious excitement. "Pinky is so relieved, she is! Missus has _friends_, how wonderful! Did you want to wait here for her? Did you want to come inside?"

"Please," Harry said, straightening up from his hunched position against the wall so that he could follow the exhilarated elf inside, pondering at how easy it was to get inside the Melpomene home. A claw-like hand around his upper arm stopped him before his feet could even pass over the threshold.

"No," came Tom's quiet, secretive hiss, almost blending in with the sound of the wind stirring the foliage of the birches surrounding the house. "I will not sit around here and wait, like a loyal house pet yearning for its master. We don't have time for this, why won't you listen to me? Just give up, Harry. We can take care of the Muggle, at it'll all be over in a handful of hours..."

"That is not my intention either. Like you said: the waiting time is over," Harry hissed back, smiled over his shoulder as the other slackened his hold, and walked into the house with confident steps. The house-elf stood waiting for them inside, by the staircase.

"Will you be waiting upstairs, sirs? Pinky can bring you tea! And Snidgetberry Sweetcakes! Missus loves those, she does!" The squishy little elf was practically jumping up and down at the prospect of being of service, its tone so chirp and high-pitched Harry could feel his headache worsen despite having ingested a potion against it.

"No, Pinky wait," he hurriedly said before the elf could bounce up the stairs. It stopped to look at him with huge, disappointed eyes. "It is very kind of you to ask, but we are in a hurry. We need to see Serena immediately. So we need to use the Floo Network, is that alright?"

"Yes, of course, Mr Potter, sir," the elf said in a small, timid voice before it scurried away down the ground level corridor towards a brightly lit room at its end. Through the blur of his vision, Harry recognized the room as a comfortable looking sitting room, all the furniture in light, earthy colours – not one painting decorating the walls. To their immediate right stood the house-elf, gesturing towards a big, chalk white hearth.

* * *

In a burst of green flames, Harry emerged from out of one of the grand fireplaces lining the walls of the Ministry of Magic's Entrance Hall. Right behind him came Tom, immediately busying himself with sweeping soot away from his shoulders with twitchy movements, dusting his perfectly neat hairdo with worried hands. "Stop it, you don't need to do that," Harry berated him with a small, affectionate smile. "There's no one here who could come close to look as good as you do. Soot or not... You do have a little smudge though, right by your mouth..."

Tom furiously started rubbing his face, casting a questioning look at him as if to ask if it was gone. Harry just grinned evilly, snickered to himself and started walking towards the information desk. "Fooled you."

He didn't see the other's reaction, hidden behind his back, but the distant sound of steps with a certain spring to them reached his smoking ears. Apparently, his poorly masked praise had hit home.

The young wizard behind the information desk, however, did not seem pleased. His naturally pouting mouth was drawn together into a tight bud, and his bushy eyebrows were tightly knitted together on his shiny forehead. He was eyeing the approaching wizards warily.

"Serena Melpomene, please," Harry began politely, coming to stand immediately in front of the glossy, black desk with the golden sign reading _Information_ hovering above it.

"You're that Time Traveller," the young man behind it pointed out uselessly. Harry just shrugged in confirmation. "Is she expecting visitors?" the man questioned lazily, eyeing Harry's ears with a disgusted sneer. Apparently, he must be looking just as bad as he was feeling... or worse, Harry mused to himself.

"Naturally," Tom filled in, coming to stand by the desk too, leaning his elbow comfortably against its sparkling clean surface. "We wouldn't want to barge in, after all. She knows we're coming."

"I seriously doubt it," the sour man said, but despite his moody behaviour, he raised a hand to point across the hall. "Level 2, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She's most likely in a meeting with the other members as of now. Did you know," he suddenly exclaimed, unable to hold his peace any longer. "Your ears are spitting out smoke like a couple of chimneys. You should have that looked over before troubling us here at the Ministry."

Harry simply smiled at him, nodded once and turned to leave. Tom immediately followed him. "Thank you for your help," he called as he went, and he could feel the cold glare at his back all the way over to the elevators.

"They really don't like you here, do they?" Tom pointed out as they stepped into one of the little boxes heading for level 2.

"Of course not," Harry answered in a cheerful tone, swaying unsteadily as the elevator started moving upwards. "Time Travellers are tricky people, right? One moment they are one hundred percent sure something's going to happen, so the Ministry tries to prevent it. Then, something even worse happen instead, just because action was taken in the first place. You can't trust a Time Traveller, silly you."

"Bad things don't _always_ happen. They're a bunch of ignorant hypocrites, all of them," Tom contradicted in a bitter voice, showing his disgust towards the Ministry openly, even if Harry was the only one there to hear him.

"Still," Harry said, leaning heavily against one of the walls surrounding them, breathing heavily against the tightness in his throat. Seen from the perspective of his claustrophobic mind, there could hardly be a worse place to be than in a tight, practically inescapable box hurling through space. "There was this one witch whose convictions turned into a massacre. She was trying to prevent the Chinese Muggles dying because of wild dragons running amok. So the Ministry of Beijing took care to search all the wild dragons out, putting them all into colonies. It turned into a war of Opium instead, and the British Muggles who would have died at home in disease were shipped off to sail right into hell... Guess chance couldn't let things be as they were... Fate had already dictated all of those people's deaths after all. Things had to be evened out."

"I find your strong belief in fate and chance sickening. You're building castles in the air. There's _no facts_ to be found in these silly fabrications."

The elevator came to a stop with a little _ping_, the doors opened up and they were instantly greeted by a flood of people clad in plum coloured robes, adorned with silver W's on their chests, rushing from one set of heavy oaken doors to the next. Above the opening they were heading towards, a golden sign hung, its engraving reading _Auditorium_. There was no end to the stream of people, but Harry instantly caught sight of familiar cascades of shiny, copper coloured hair. He rushed forwards, elbowing his way trough the crowd, and stopped the owner by the shoulder. Questioning, green-golden eyes turned to look at him, before widening in surprise.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, smiling happily for a few seconds, before her expression turned into a worried frown. "Oh my goodness! You look horrible!"

"Thanks," he replied in good humour, steadying himself against her shoulders to keep himself upright. His legs had started to become wobbly. "Look, this is really important. Fred told us you could help find a Necromancer. So we need to go, right now... I need help right now."

"Yes, I... I can see that but," she bit her lip hesitantly and glanced over Harry's bowed head towards the open doors all the other members of the Wizengamot had disappeared through, leaving the 2nd level corridor completely deserted. "Merlin, I _wish _I could leave with you, leave right now and never come back. I _do_! But I can't!"

"Enough of this," came Tom's furious, hiss of a voice from behind them, and with his own firm grip around Serena's second shoulder he started to frogmarch them towards the still open elevator doors. "You are leaving with us immediately, or I swear it, you will not leave this building with your own free will intact."

"Tom!" Harry growled in protest, a dark, swelling anger building up inside of him – a feeling not his own. "You, don't force her..."

Before anything else could be said, there was a sudden shout from the open doors of the Auditorium. "Serena!" They all whirled around as one and came face to face with a huge, muscular man charging forwards like a red-faced bull. His copper coloured locks of hair were cut short, like a lawn of grass. His eyes were a dark, sparkling fuchsia.

It was the previous Minister for Magic, now stripped of all his power and a mere member of the Wizengamot; Serena's father; Morpheus Melpomene.

"Father," Serena said in a weak voice and flinched violently as the man raised his hand towards her in a demanding gesture.

"What is the meaning of this?" he spat, coming to stand in front of the group of three, practically fuming through the ears. Luckily, Harry had patent on that certain tactic. As Mr Melpomene caught sight of this, and of course of the boy sporting the quality, his face turned if possible even redder. "_You_!" he growled, his bulging eyes focusing on the hands clutching his daughter's shoulders possessively. "Harry Potter, the Time Traveller, isn't it? Step away from her, you filth!"

His voice was low, secretive: careful not to attract any unwanted attention from the sorcerers next door. It suited Harry just fine, he didn't want to be observed either. "I need her," he said weakly, the face in front of him becoming blurry, as if the vision-fix the healers had done to his eyes at the age of twelve had suddenly worn off.

The world started spinning, violently.

"Please, sir, we just need a little of your daughter's time," said Tom, and it sounded to Harry is if he was far, far away. As if he was behind a wall of protective glass.

"The hell you do!" came a furious hiss, then a violent pull, hurling Harry's body forwards onto the cold stone floor. His concentration snapped and everything shifted. His body arose swiftly and _he_ whirled around.

"_Crucio,_" he spat and grinned widely as the red curse flew through the air and hit its target. The muscular man fell to the floor and screamed. It was music to his ears. He laughed. His vision adjusted at last and he could see the beauty of the brilliant golden magic eating away at the man lying face down on the ground. At his feet. More men should be lying at his feet...

Someone was holding him back, wrapping him and a restricting hold from behind, breaking his concentration. Damning! Now the thick one was rising to his feet, lifting his wand to point it at _him. _The audacity!

He elbowed the body at his back harshly in the stomach, making the hold slacken, and jumped forwards to reflect the spell coming his way. Fuchsia eyes locked with his blooded ones. Game was on!

It was with great amusement he found his enemy wasn't all that he seemed. His power was borrowed. He was leaching onto another. A thin, golden string tying him together with the frail looking woman at his feet. In truth, she seemed to be the powerful one. But the man, on the other hand, held all that power. What a sneaky bastard! Perhaps he shouldn't be killed after all...

There were shouts coming from the open doors in the end of the hall, and lesser beings stuck their ugly faces out to peer at them. Too bad, he wouldn't have enough time to let the big one live... Oh well!

"HARRY!"

The stupid boy turned his back on the enemy to look at the corrupted version of himself.

"Tom!" The whimper escaped out of his mouth, and it tasted vile. About as vile as the sore feeling assaulting his chest. He felt dirty, all over...

He whirled around once more and shielded himself from the incoming chain of curses heading towards him. The big man was still shaking in the aftermath of the Torture Curse. What a beautiful sight.

He raised his wand to finish it all. His lips curled backwards into a cold smile.

The wand slashed through the air.

The big man fell to the floor.

The chain around his neck shattered.

There were three horrible screams of agony. The big man screamed in pain as the fuchsia colour of his eyes sunk away, the frail woman wailed as her eyes split open in colour. Harry screamed as he fought for regained control, the headache it cost him so great it felt like a thousand needles diving into his very nerve centre, building a home there.

He reached out to Tom, and he bolted forwards, hauling his heavy body to its feet. He was hurriedly disposed of in the elevator, lying uselessly on the floor as Serena came stumbling in a moment later, her face tear-streaked but without any sign of pain.

Tom hurled into the small space and pressed the button for their departure. The doors closed on an angry mob of plum coloured people charging at them. The biggest one of them screaming, "STOP THEM! STOP THEM NOW!" at the top of his lungs.

And they were going downwards.

"Melpomene, can you stand? Can you run?"

"Just call me Serena already. And yes, of course I can."

"Good. Melpomene, you will run, run like the wind, or I swear to God!"

"I'm not stupid, of course I'll run!"

"You will floo to Riddle Manor, Little Hangleton. Have your floo powder at the ready. I will take Harry, and we will follow you closely. I will close the floo connection to the manor as soon as we arrive. That will buy us time. But we can not stay here, they will find us. He used an Unforgivable..."

"I can't believe he did that..."

"He wasn't himself. Now, where do we find our Necromancer?"

"I know a few, they are very secretive people... But we can't risk being seen in Britain. It'll have to be out of the country..."

"Well?"

"Italy. I know someone in Italy."

_Ping!_

"RUN!"

* * *

_A/N: Finally things are beginning to pick up speed. I've been waiting forever to get to this part. The next chapter will be a delight to write! As always, I thank you for reading and hope you have liked the chapter. Please, ask if you wonder anything, it helps me think as well. _

_A guest reviewer asked me if this was going to be a story involving male pregnancy. And, no, I'm sorry but it isn't. I don't have anything at all against the theme of it, actually I find it quite fascinating. As you might have noticed I love toying with gender roles. But, alas, that is not the kind of story I'm aiming for. Throwing a child into the mix just wouldn't work. Perhaps I'll try it out in a later fic :)_

_Mischief managed!_


	13. You Woke the Devil

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Thirteen

_You Woke the Devil_

* * *

"_Imperio!_"

His body was bending impossibly, arising crookedly, standing on wobbly legs that began to move. Fast.

He was running, following close behind swirling black hems of a summer cloak, which belonged to his master. He had been told to obey, to make a quick escape, not to question or hesitate.

In front of them, heavy purple robes vanished in a flash of flames, and behind them there was shouting. Swarming people chasing them, scolding them, trying to intercept them.

Harry couldn't make it all fit, it was too much, but his body wouldn't let him stop and think about it. It just ran. As fast it could.

They had come to an end, a great black hearth in their way, and he was told to stop running. His master hastened into the square, dark hole in the wall, shouting for him to "Come here!" and stretching his hand out. Harry sprang into his arms and was cradled close to fit in to the small chimney. And they spun away through the slim darkness.

It was a bumpy ride, not made for two at once. Their shoulders kept hitting the stone walls around them, their knees and feet bumping back and forwards in the bends. Then, they were spat out onto a polished, wooden floor – their dusty cloaks spreading soot all around them.

Harry was pushed away by impatient hands, landed on his back and lay waiting for the next command. It never came. Instead, a beloved velvety voice rasped out "_finite_", and he could breathe again. He immediately started shivering, becoming aware of the sweat soaking his forehead, of the headache slamming against the bone of his skull. His ears were cool, though, the hot steam had gone with the effect of the potion. So much for five hours...

"Harry, are you alright? Can you hear me?"

Serena's soft voice reached him, and he nodded silently, seeing her worried form kneeling beside him. Her hair was a mess, all tangled up and sooty – but her eyes were shining in a marvellous fuchsia colour, showing her deep concern and devotion but also her immense power.

They disappeared from his view as Lord Riddle came up beside them, arguing sharply with anybody who would listen, clearly distraught. Serena was trying to make him calm down, but Harry didn't have eyes or ears for her. He was watching Tom, standing over the open fireplace, waving his wand and chanting under his breath as he was warding it firmly shut. The afternoon sun filtered through the thin summer curtains framing the handsome windows, sweeping across Tom's back, making his black locks of hair seem almost dark, dark brown in colour. The tresses were getting a bit long, Harry mused from his position on the floor, suddenly becoming self-conscious of his own bird's nest of a hairdo. He tried lifting his right hand to flatten out the no doubt jumbled tresses, but found he didn't have the strength to do even that.

Then Tom moved from the hearth and turned to him. Harry's attention immediately switched back onto him. He vaguely recognized Serena and Lord Riddle had become silent by his side. Everybody was waiting for Tom to tell them what to do.

"I have no doubt they have already consulted the fireplace for our destination," he spoke quietly, his voice ringing clear in the dead silence of the room. "We cannot stay. Melpomene, ready yourself for disapparition. You must side-along the both of us. Can you manage two at the time?"

"That great distance? No," Serena said, her voice shaky and quiet.

"One at the time, then," Tom concluded shortly. Then, to everybody's surprise, he turned on his heel and walked towards the entrance hall staircase, leading towards the second floor. "You will not leave without me. But do get ready," he called behind him as he went.

"Come on, Harry," Serena said after a short, stunned silence, and pulled him to his feet. He was leaning heavily on her slim but tall form, and he could feel her sway unsteadily under his weight. She was beginning to move towards the hallway and the front door, pulling at him with a painful grip under his left armpit, when Lord Riddle cut in to stop them.

"Miss... Melpomene, was it? Would you kindly just hold up for a moment? Bryce! Give her a hand."

And immediately, Serena was relieved of her burden as the butler took a firm hold of Harry's limp body. In front of them Lord Tom Sr came rolling, spinning on the spot to come blocking their way out, a determined look on his aged face.

"Firstly: Harry, are you quite alright?"

"I'm fine, it's alright," Harry slurred, fighting hard to keep his eyes open.

His Lordship didn't seem convinced at all, but sent a dubious look Harry's way with a firm set to his jaw. Nonetheless, he continued. "Now, what happened to you? Where have you been? And you can't possibly believe I am letting the lot of you leave once again with you in this state. If you believe for one second I will let you off the hook, you are sorely mistaken. Now, get back into the living room, at once. You will tell me what is going on, and you will do it _now_."

"Sorry, Father, there is no time for that," came Tom's voice from the staircases, and the heels of his boots made _clicking_ noises as he moved closer. He suddenly appeared in the doorway, his black travelling cloak neatly fastened around his shoulders, a heavily packed trunk at his feet. It followed him obediently as he walked into the room and came to stand next to his father by the doorway.

Lord Riddle looked up at his son with a furious expression on his handsome face. "You will make time to explain yourself, Tom. I am your father and your guardian, I _demand_ you to –"

"Bryce," Tom called out in the middle of his father's tirade, making his tone commanding enough to work as the Imperious Curse on a Muggle. "Take Harry outside, make sure he stays awake. Wait for me just outside the front porch. Melpomene, you too."

The old butler immediately began to move, pulling the weak wizard with him as if he were a heavy sack of potatoes. Serena followed them close behind, shooting worried looks Harry's way, which he caught sight of when turning his head backwards in his attempts to see what Tom would make of his worried father before they left. Would he command him too, or would he try to convince him with words only? Would he simply leave without trying to resolve it all? But before he could get any answers to those questions, Bryce had already dragged him outside, the afternoon sun shining piercingly into his sore eyes.

They didn't have to stand there for long before Tom came striding through the door with hurried steps, his heavy trunk bounding after him like an obedient watchdog. He immediately made for Harry's slumped form, coming to stand in front of him with a face made of stone. He raised his wand to vanish all the soot coating his shivering friend's form, deft fingers pulling his red summer cloak into place over his hunched shoulders. "All your work was in the library, I take it? Nothing I've missed?"

"No, it was all there," Harry agreed quietly, feeling cold and abandoned as Tom's hands moved away from his shoulders.

Turning to the luggage at his feet, Tom raised his wand and ruthlessly shrunk it to the size of a matchbox. The thing whined pathetically, but was ignored and instead put safely in store into one of its master's deep pockets.

"Time to go," he proclaimed, holding out his arm for Serena to take in a side-along Apparition. The lone girl, still dressed in her Wizengamot purple robes and sooty all over, visibly hesitated.

"It's just... I've never apparated there before, since it's in the middle of Muggle Florence. The risk of being seen is too great. We usually apparate to a village close by and then use Italy's Floo Network, but... I understand it'll take too long."

"Indeed," Tom agreed shortly, snatching a hold of her upper arm when she didn't make a move to accept his offered limb. "Just do it. I will deal with the Muggles..."

Serena gave him a short look before nodding shortly, then turning her head to cast one last worried look Harry's way. "I'll be right back," she promised before the two of them disappeared with a sudden _crack_.

In the silence afterwards, only Harry and the old Mr Bryce remained. The soft twittering of nearby birds could be heard and a distant neigh of a horse sounded from a faraway pasture. Otherwise, the hot summer day was silent as could be, and Harry's ears were filled with the deafening sound of his own, heavy breaths.

With the sudden urge to fill the silence, Harry searched wildly for something to talk about with the sour old man holding him so dutifully. "Hey, Bryce," he began, wincing as he heard how awkwardly hoarse his voice was.

"Yes, Mr Potter?" Bryce muttered bitterly, taking a firmer hold of Harry's body as he had begun to slide downwards.

"Er, well, I just kinda wanted to thank you. You know, for taking such good care of Tom and all. I know all this magic business hasn't been easy for you to adapt to. I remember, you were awfully eager to get rid of us at first, helping to send us away... Er, well, that was because you were so loyal to Lord Thomas and Lady Mary I guess... But you've been good, you know, that's what I'm trying to say. Really nice, I mean. The last couple of years, you've done so much for us. So, well, I just wanted to say thanks, I guess."

Bryce's face was contorted beyond recognition almost, as Harry turned to look at him. It almost looked as if he'd gotten a mouthful of lemon juice. Suddenly, he grabbed Harry painfully by the shoulders, holding him at arm's length to stare unnervingly deep into his eyes.

"You're going away, aren't you?" he questioned in a deranged voice, sounding desperately hopeful, his eyes gleaming madness. "The both of you, you're leaving. Please! I can't take any more of this magic _nonsense_. It's deranged, uncanny. Bloody unnatural! I've tried to stay silent as best I can, but if you are truly leaving... _Please_," Bryce called out, shaking Harry back and forwards to make point of his words. "Please, stay away from here. Let us be. You have no idea what freak shows I've had to endure from _him_ over the years. And all my attempts to fight back. I don't know what he does to me, but I can't fight it. I can't stop him! Why can't you just let us be? Why can't you just _leave_?"

There was a sudden crack behind them as Serena came back to get him, but Harry couldn't help but keep staring into the desperate eyes of old Mr Bryce. The man who had had to endure so much, who had lived in fear for years, only his loyalty to the family keeping him in place. Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Tom must have been using his unique power over Muggles on the man almost relentlessly ever since his grandparents were out of the house. Harry had known it had been going on, of course, but he hadn't known it had been taken to this point. Perhaps it was a good thing they would be leaving the mansion and Britain behind for an unspecified period of time...

Frail but sure hands dug into his upper arms and ripped him out of Mr Bryce's grip, a cascade of now clean bronze hair flowing down his left shoulder as Serena held him against her chest with a firm grip around his ribcage. "Get ready," she whispered softly into his ear moments before his body was pulled into Disapparition.

He was squeezed, flung, pressed and pulled out through space, and then all of a sudden spat out in a dark cobblestone alley. High stone buildings rose above him, sneaking towards each other so snugly they almost seemed to reach out to one another. Wooden windowpanes framed the houses' windows, most of which were peered open to let in some air in the scorching summer heat. On the walls clung creepers in shifting colours of green, and in the air the fresh smell of running water could be made out.

"Che cosa sta succedendo? Cos'è questo rumore? Chi è?"

The shout came from above, and when Harry craned his neck, he could see a thick-necked man stick his head out to peer down on them. Almost the second the last shout left his mouth, a green beam of light hit him square in the forehead and a dazed look came over his eyes.

Dark as a shadow, silent like a summer breeze with wand held high, Tom sneaked up on them from behind. "That was all of them," he breathed out as he almost ripped Serena's hands away so that he could sling Harry's left arm over his shoulders and take over the weight. The sure warmth of the hands holding him, the familiar scent catching his nose managed to infuse renewed determination in Harry's mind. His back straightened up from its hunched position. It wasn't over yet.

"Lead the way," Tom dictated, and Serena shot a less than tickled glare over her shoulder before doing as commanded.

"It wasn't necessary to obliviate that man," she said in a cold tone of voice, "he was just asking what was going on, he hadn't seen anything."

"Melpomene, do shut up," Tom drawled, and continued in a quiet hiss close to Harry's ear: "Why did it have to be _her_? It could have been anyone, but it had to be _her_."

"Be glad it wasn't Mrs Smith," Harry hissed back and grinned widely as his companion let out a low growl of displeasure.

"Small mercies..."

"Riddle, do shut up," Serena breathed out with a victorious gleam in her sparkling fuchsia coloured eyes. "There might be Aurors around. We're fugitives, remember? And it isn't exactly customary for tourists to go around stealing away the inhabitant's memories when on a visit, is it?"

The boys shut up and followed silently in her tracks. Well, for a little while...

"Can I kill her?" Tom whispered cheerfully into Harry's ear, his eyes shooting daggers at the purple robes sneaking trough the slim alleys in front of them. "I'd make it quick, she wouldn't even notice. I'm sure we can find this Necromancer without her help anyway."

"Don't make me use up my last strengths to swat you over the head," Harry panted out, feeling sweat starting to coat his entire face like a thin carpet made out of little beads of salty water.

"Pity," Tom said and took a firmer hold on his burden's body so that he almost carried rather than supported.

They didn't have to struggle along the narrow cobblestone streets of Florence for long after that, for suddenly their guide made a sharp turn to the right and they all found themselves in a dark courtyard with a huge willow in the middle, casting a great shade over the entire house framing it. The building was grand, made out of old, dark brown brick-work, covered with arched portals and low stone stairs leading to room after room. Along the orange brick roof ran a ledge of little demon heads made out of stone, looking down on the courtyard below, stretching their forked tongues out to taste the air.

Wasting no time watching the no doubt familiar scenery, Serena sped ahead and hurried up the stairs into the open patio leading to a wide open, medieval looking front door. Inside they found themselves in a grand room with dark walls coated with staircases in red cherry wood. The floor was in a checked black and white marble material, which the heels of their boots clicked against as they travelled inside. Well, Tom's and Serena's boots clicked – Harry's almost hissed as he dragged his heavy feet forwards.

With a little _pop_, suddenly there was a house-elf standing in front of the nearest staircase, blocking their way to the rest of the house. It was a fat little thing, its cheeks sticking out like on a well-nurtured pig, its tennis ball sized eyes almost being squished out of their sockets from the fat pads surrounding them. Its soccer ball shaped body was dressed in an old, dust pink lampshade. It must be painful for it, Harry mused, the inside of it no doubt containing steel wires holding its shape up. But, he had to confess, it fitted the elf perfectly. It was neither too big nor too small, and the elf could move around freely in the thing.

"Buongiorno, signorina Melpomene," it said in a low baritone, catching Harry completely unawares. He'd never met a house-elf with a deep voice before. It felt very odd. "È la mia padrona ti aspetta?"

"Buongiorno, Beppe. No, lei non lo fa. Ma abbiamo bisogno vederla. E 'urgente," Serena answered it, making it disappear with a little _poof._ Its deep voice sounded from above them moments later, coming from one of the rooms in the four levels of house. The place was _huge_, Harry thought to himself, feeling faint as he looked up to the ceiling, which was coated in magical paintings portraying little cherubs floating around amongst the clouds in the clear blue sky.

They all looked up into the high stairwell as a black cloaked figure with flowing, straight silver hair came out of one of the rooms on the third floor and started descending towards them. It was a very tall, very skinny woman with matted and wrinkly dark skin that seemed two sizes too big for her frail body. It seemed all the excess fat she had once had attached to her bones had been handed over to her house-elf, who was at least three sizes bigger... no _wider_, than any elf Harry had ever seen before.

As the woman came closer, walking with surprisingly quick steps for someone that age, her eyes were revealed to them. All white, except for the tiny dots marking the pupils in the middle of them. The eyes of a Necromancer. All colour had left them, and when she would travel over the edge to the world of the dead, they would shift and become all black, the pupils widening to coat the entire eyeball. What was visible of it anyway.

But now the eyes were uncannily white as they swept from person to person, boring deep into each and every one of them, before landing on Serena. The wrinkly woman's thin-lipped mouth broke out in a wide smile, revealing jaws of sharp, crooked teeth.

"Che meravigliosa sorpresa, Serena mia cara, benvenuto!" her voice was sharp like nails on a chalkboard, but her tone of voice was warm and loving as she sprang forwards and engulfed Serena in a bone crushing hug, kissing both her cheeks firmly.

"Oriane," Serena gasped out with a wide smile of her own, "è bello vederti. This is Harry Potter and Tom Riddle, they need your help."

"My help?" the old woman questioned in a grave accent, piercing the boys with her ghost white eyes once again. She stretched a hand out towards Tom and walked close enough so that he could shake it. Then, she turned and shook hands with Harry as well. Her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of the ring sitting safely on his index finger. Then, in the blink of an eye, the look was gone. "My name is Oriane Zabini," she declared in a soft tone that wasn't as harsh on the ears as her spontaneous shout of joy had been.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Zabini," Tom said, holstering Harry up in his clutches as he had began to weakly slide down towards the floor. "I am sorry to barge into your home like this, but it is quite urgent."

"Yes, urgent..." Oriane repeated slowly, "I want payment."

"Of course," Tom assured her hurriedly. "Name your price."

Mrs Zabini lowered greedy eyes to Harry's right hand, pointing with a twig-like finger. "That."

When he realised her price, Tom hissed viciously, clutching Harry's body painfully tight. "That is a family heirloom of mine," he spat out. The old lady only raised one unimpressed eyebrow.

"That is the Resurrection Stone," she said, meeting Tom's glare head on.

Harry wanted to protest as well. Without the ring, he'd never get to see Lora again. But then, he remembered what she'd said to him the night before:

"_Tomorrow, it will all change, and we won't get any more time together." _

She'd _known_ it would come to this. And she'd known what his answer would be.

"What are you talking about?" said Tom suspiciously. "That is just an old ring."

"It's not," Harry said, carefully pulling it off his finger and offering it to the woman in front of them. She snatched it away greedily and pocketed it at once. Harry's finger felt weird where it once had been seated.

Pleased with her payment, Mrs Zabini turned on her heel and charged through the hallway towards a sitting room on the ground floor. "Follow me!" she called behind her as she went.

Tom was watching Harry with frail, betrayed eyes. It stung Harry to the soul. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It just... It was sort of personal at the time... I swear, I'll explain it all to you."

Not saying a word, not sparing him even a look, Tom pulled him with towards the room the Necromancer had entered. Behind them, Serena followed carefully.

The sitting room was big and airy, with high windows letting the day's last rays of sun into the room, not with the help from the heavy satin hangings framing them. The sofas were plush, in the same deep blue satin material, and Harry sank deep down into the stuffing as he sat down on one of them. All around them, inquisitive eyes from grim looking people portrayed in paintings watched their every step, murmuring quietly to each other in Italian.

The sofa seats shifted with a groan as Tom sat down next to him, carelessly handing over his poorly organized notebook with theories and calculations for what was now about to happen. Harry opened it carefully, and laid it on his lap. He then met the piercing eyes of the Necromancer. Hopefully, his explanations wouldn't take all too long...

* * *

"I am sorry, _giovanotto_, I am understanding. But listen to me – it will not work!"

Harry felt like pulling all his hair out. Why didn't the old woman understand him? He had been talking for so long his voice had almost left him. The sun had set and the moon had risen. But Oriane Zabini had still not agreed to do anything. _At all_.

"Of course it will work. Come on, you can look over the calculations yourself if you want to," Harry exclaimed and stretched out the book for the other to take, but the old woman didn't accept it.

"I told you, I understand. But it will not work."

"It will _work_!" Harry hissed, angered and shivering in fever. He was just about to snatch out his wand and threaten the woman to help him when a cool hand travelled along the back of his neck and came to rest there, tugging lightly at the strands of hair on the base of his head.

"You need to calm down," Tom hissed softly for his ears only, massaging his head in that way he knew Harry liked, snapping his own consciousness back into place.

"I'm sorry," he said, meeting eyes with Mrs Zabini, who looked as calm as ever. "Why won't it work? What's wrong with it?"

She smiled kindly at him, silently apologising for criticising something which he had been working on for so long. "There is one detail you haven't thought about, that is all," she said, twining her spidery fingers together with a contemplating expression. Next to her, Serena shifted uncomfortably, and shot Harry a worried look. "Your theories are near perfect, but you do not have any understanding for the nature of the soul. It is _molto complicato_, difficult. You want to free yourself of this monster, as you call it. An alien soul inside of your own. But what will happen to it when it is gone? Where will it go?"

The question took Harry by surprise. "Where will it go? Well, I... shouldn't it just pass on? Shouldn't it kill him?"

Oriane shook her head slowly. "No, _è impossibile, giovanotto_. It will not work. It will not leave you that simply."

"Then, what would it take?" Harry asked, desperate to find a solution. All these months, all these struggles – they couldn't just have been for nothing. Something had to be done!

"A body," the Necromancer said, smirking lightly. Tom's hand stilled and became dead weight on Harry's nape. "A _familiar_ body that the soul know. That is its own."

"My body," Tom said in a dead tone, and Harry turned sharply to face him. His complexion was pale, his eyes cold, his entire body stiff as a board. The hand on Harry's neck came free and travelled into the black summer cloak to pull out a thin yew wand. Tom turned his face slowly. Coldly and callously he raised his wand, the tip of it resting softly right between Harry's eyes. "Which one do you prefer?" he hissed in a deadly tone. "I'd say the Necromancer will put up more of a fight, but I see you wouldn't want to murder your friend."

"Tom, no," Harry gasped out, but his beloved only smiled coldly, at the end of his rope.

"You have run out of excuses, Harry. Don't worry, it'll all be over soon."

"RIDDLE! Have you gone insane?" Serena shouted desperately, pointing her own wand straight at Tom's heart. He didn't even spare her a glance.

"On the other hand, I've wanted to kill her for as long as I can remember..." Tom hissed, the Imperius Curse at the tip of his tongue.

"There is another way," a scratchy voice interrupted them all. Oriane had risen to her full length, towering over them all, a commanding aura surrounding her. If she was surprised she was housing a couple of Parselmouths, she did not show it, but only looked at all of them as if they were a bunch of rowdy children. In her eyes, perhaps they were, Harry thought. "Since we have the original body here, there is another way. Signor Riddle will not have to sacrifice himself to save you. There is a third option."

The old lady sat down again, the spell she'd had on the room slowly vanishing, and Harry felt quite faint when he could finally breathe again. Tom's wand fell away. Serena sank down onto the sofa behind her again.

"The Necromancer do not only work with Soul Magic, Mr Potter, but with _corpses_. I used to make a living from making Muggle pets come back to life, although soulless, they were living. Old cats that were just lying on the couch all day, letting their owners pet them at all times. The Muggles could not have been more happy... Ah, well, most of them. Then, the Ministry had their _opinions_... Anyhow, there is one Necromantic technique I think will interest you: the doppelgänger."

"The doppelgänger?" Harry repeated stupidly. Then, his blood ran cold – he'd heard of those before. "But, they're highly illegal! There's so many things that could go wrong. To copy someone's body like that..."

"Do it," Tom commanded coldly, looking straight at the sombre witch in front of them. She nodded once and got to her feet.

"Wait, Tom!" Harry called out as the other also rose to his feet and followed the Necromancer as she made her way through an ornamented door and disappeared from sight. "You haven't thought this through!"

"It's a body he wants, isn't it?" Tom hissed quietly. "Let's give him one. Then, we can finally kill him."

His heart in his throat, making it hard to breathe, Harry watched his beloved walk towards the door, halting on the threshold for a second. "Melpomene," he said in normal English. "Make sure he doesn't fall asleep." And with that, he was gone.

Harry slumped together in his seat, intense fear clogging his mind. It was all going so fast, changing into a shape he couldn't make. It all was out of his hands. He truly felt victimized.

A warm presence at his side pulled him back to reality. A careful finger tracked the underside of his right eye, and he realised wet tears had started to leak out of him.

"It's alright, Harry," Serena said quietly, stroking his cheek softly. "You don't have to worry. We'll take care of you."

"What if it won't work?" he gasped out. "What if something goes wrong, what if Tom gets hurt? What if Voldemort won't let go of me?"

Serena's power-soused eyes studied his complexion carefully, her presence confident and kind, calming him down, at least a little. "It will work," she said confidently. "As long as you stay awake and trust us, it'll all be alright. And you don't have to worry about Tom, he's in good hands. Oriane has never failed once she's set her mind to something."

Outside of the tall windows, brilliant stars sparkled like tiny pebbles of glass, caught by the soft light of the nearly full moon, making them light up like prisms. The moonlight travelled inside the room where they were seated, past heavy satin curtains, and onto Harry's pale face. Half of it was lit up, the other half cast in shadow. One of his wet eyes sparkled a brilliant, bright green.

"I just don't know how much more I can fight it."

"Oh, Harry," Serena whined and snaked her arms around his shoulders, holding him as silent tears kept rolling down his cheeks. One of her hands came up to the back of his head, patting it hesitantly, trying to imitate what Tom had done to calm him down earlier. But it just wasn't the same. It just wasn't.

"Ssshh," the young witch hushed him gently, "don't cry. It's alright, I won't let anything happen to you. You saved me, alright? So it's my turn now. Trust me. Okay? So, don't cry."

Harry nodded silently, sniffing against his clogged nostrils, feeling his eyelids slowly droop.

"Oh no, you don't!" Serena exclaimed and pinched his cheek. Hard. He let out a helpless yelp in surprise. "You can't fall asleep, remember?"

"Just a little bit," Harry whined, snuggling into a comfy position in the soft sofa seat, but he was rudely slapped over the cheek. It woke him up completely. "Whatcha do that for?" he complained and rubbed his abused face.

"Listen up, I'm about to tell you something _really _important, so you _absolutely_ can not fall asleep. Do you hear?" Serena's eyes sparkled brightly in the direct moonlight, making her look fierce. She clearly meant business. Harry nodded hastily and obediently kept his eyes open.

"When I was little, Mum told me a story of my past. I didn't really understand it then, but after tonight it is painfully clear to me what she meant. See, as soon as I was born my parents knew I was different. I had so much magic it was overflowing. Uncontrollable for an infant such as I. If I had gotten to grow up with it, I would have lost control of it. It could have killed us all. One boost of accidental magic and it would all be over. So it had to be locked away. She never told me where it was put, but after tonight, I think you too know who took it."

"Your father," Harry breathed out in disbelief. "He took your powers to save you."

"Well," Serena said, sighing deeply. "At first, yes, I think so. And I think Mum and Dad's plan was to give my powers back once I'd reached maturity. But then... well, I guess he must have gotten greedy. Mum died about a year ago, and a couple of months earlier, in May, I had turned seventeen. They fought, so much, the last couple of months she was alive, and I never knew why. I guess this might have been part of it. She might have tried to convince Dad to give me back the magic.

"You should have seen him after her death. He'd always been protective of me before, shielding me from everything and everybody who could mean potential harm. But now, he was right out possessive of me at times. He wouldn't let me do anything. His wish for me to work with him at the Ministry became an order, and I've never been able to refuse his orders. You saw it yourself, didn't you? The chain that shattered? The one which had been tied to our necks. That must have been why, all this time..."

"He used your own magic against you," Harry concluded, horrified. "That's awful!"

"Yes," she agreed simply, and they sat in silence for a while, neither of them knowing quite what to say. "Well, it's over now," Serena finally stated with a contented little sigh, "thanks to you."

"Yeah, but thanks to me, you are also a fugitive," Harry answered tiredly. "You can't even use this freedom you've obtained, you have to hide instead."

"One more self-pitying word out of your mouth and I will _seriously_ give you a slapping you won't forget in the first place." Her tone was impatient, ticked off, worried and sad – all at once.

Harry shut up.

* * *

Half an hour later, Tom came back into the room, looking slightly dazed but still feigning indifference, that stubborn bastard. Harry noticed that his walk was unsteady. He was probably feeling much worse than he made out.

"Your turn," he stated and walked closer to his two seated companions. As he bent down to help Harry to his feet, he was halted by a clammy hand on his shoulder.

"You can't take me," Harry stated, giving him a quick once-over. "I'm too heavy."

"Excuse me?" Tom hissed angrily, but was quickly shoved away by Serena, eager to prove herself.

"I'll take him," she said cheerfully and hauled the heavy boy to his feet.

"You can't even take a step with him," Tom said through gritted teeth, slinging Harry's free arm over his own shoulder, trying to pull him away. Serena pulled back. Harry's patience bristled.

"Oh, COME ON!" he roared, halting the vicious tug of war. The world swam in front of his eyes as all the blood ran from his head. "You will just have to... have to do it together... and unless... unless." Harry tried to blink to clear his vision, but it wasn't helping. "Unless that is two doors leading into that room... You better hurry..."

For the first time in their lives, Tom and Serena cooperated. And they did it both silently and quickly. Harry wondered if he'd unexpectedly died and gone to heaven.

The new room was pitch black, all the curtains drawn over the windows, letting no light in. In the middle of the room, on the dark floor, a circle of lit candles could be made out. And in the middle of it lay the fresh doppelgänger. It was sprawled out on its back, the palms of its hands facing up, its dull green eyes wide open and lifeless. It looked to Harry like a broken doll, uncanny and extremely realistic – as if it had been shipped in directly from _Madame Tussauds_.

To his utmost horror, his own body was lain down right next to the weird thing, their hands involuntary touching before he hurriedly snatched his away. It had been cold as ice.

Around the circle of candles, the Necromancer had started pacing. Round and round she went, chanting incessantly in Latin. She held no wand, but she did wave her hands around, fingers spread wide. The room was too dark to see, and his eyes were blinded by the bright shine of the many candles, but Harry was sure her eyes were all black by now.

For every circuit she made, he could feel himself become lighter and lighter, as if gravity itself was slowly seeping away. Soon, his skin began to tingle, the feeling moving from his feet, his hands, his head to finally land in the depth of his chest. It resided there and became more intense by the second.

After what seemed like an eternity, the chanting stopped and the Necromancer came to a halt at his feet, her claw-like hands reaching out over his body. Then they clenched together, and Harry felt something in his chest clench with them. She drew her hands towards her own chest, slowly, and he felt that _something_ inside of him rip apart. Becoming two units. It wasn't painful, exactly, in fact he felt completely numb and calm.

The Necromancer met eyes with him for the first time, and when she started the chant again, that _something_ started to move. Up to the surface, into his lungs. He almost choked as it started to move up his trachea and into his throat. It filled out all the space, and it moved so slowly he couldn't breathe. His mouth opened up widely, without his consent, and he knew this was it. This was the point where he had to do his part or Voldemort's soul would never leave his body.

Ever so slowly, and with an uneasy feeling in his guts, he rolled over. He landed uncomfortably on top of the still body of the doppelgänger. Its dull eyes were directed at him as he forced its mouth as widely open as his own was.

Then, just like how a Dementor would do it, Harry lowered his own mouth onto that of the doppelgänger, and bit down. Blood flowed between his teeth, and he choked impossibly as the ripped away soul piece finally reached his mouth, hovered between the two bodies for a heart beat, and then sank down into its new body.

Harry hurriedly let his teeth free and drew in the deepest breath he'd ever taken in his life. Dizziness clogged up his mind, and faintly, he slumped against the cold body under him.

He was completely spent, his breathing so quick one would think he'd run a marathon. But he was free. Finally! He was whole!

Strength started to seep into his bones, and he could finally make an attempt to rise from his awkward position.

Until, suddenly, he was pulled back down.

Harsh fingers pulled at him, ripped at his clothing to keep him in place, holding him down against a chest that suddenly wasn't so cold any more.

A vicious hiss reached Harry's ears. A threatening sound he couldn't make out.

Voldemort was awake.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for all the love and support. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. _

_Mischief managed! _


	14. Left With Emptiness

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Fourteen

_Left With Emptiness_

* * *

Harry's heart was beating harshly against his tight chest, which was pressed snugly against the vile creature beneath him. He was rising and falling up and down in tune with Voldemort's harsh breaths, unable to make his numb limbs move.

And the hissing continued.

He was paralysed in fright. Shocked beyond belief. His feverish body refusing to comprehend what was happening.

_Why the hell wasn't anybody doing anything?_

Without his consent, he was harshly pulled to his feet, one claw-like hand snaking itself around his sore neck. It clenched painfully.

His entire body shook with the effort of keeping himself from putting all his weight on that hand and instead on his own two wobbly legs.

And still, the hissing continued.

Cracking one of his frail eyelids open, he saw two blurry figures in the dark, standing on each side of the circle of now blown out candles. The circle in which he was now being held prisoner.

The two figures had their wands pointed immediately at him. No, at Voldemort, he realised with some relief.

Serena looked fierce, standing strong in the dark room, her whole body on its toes.

Tom looked disfigured, unbalanced and slightly wobbly, like Harry's legs. His mouth was moving every now and then.

And all around them, the hissing sounded, making no sense to Harry. Where was it coming from? He'd never heard anything like it. But still, it sounded so familiar.

His whole body was on the verge of collapsing, he was so weak. His head swam. The painful grip Voldemort had on his neck made it hard to breathe.

_No, but really – what was that sound? _

Something was rummaging around in his cloak pocket, and then he felt a cold, wooden tip press against his left temple. Voldemort had stolen his wand.

His heart was beating so fast he heard it drumming in his ears. The sound blending with that consistent hissing he couldn't make sense of.

Then, suddenly, the sound changed and he understood. The chest pressing against his clammy back vibrated as Voldemort spoke softly. "It is no use, foolish boy... He won't understand you any more..." Harry's body shook along with the monster's cold, mirthless laughter. "He wasn't even a _pure one_ to begin with. Not like us. Or is it... 'not like me'?"

Voldemort laughed again, slowly and mockingly. He clenched his right hand even harder around his victim's neck.

It was with a pang of intense loss Harry understood what was going on. That hissing noise, it wasn't just sound, but _speech_. Parseltongue! And he didn't understand it any more. He couldn't have recognised it for what it was, for he had never heard it being spoken without the ability to magically understand it before. But now, when Voldemort didn't possess his body and mind any more, the ability was lost to him. It made him crumble in grief, as if he'd lost a reliable old friend.

But then, he reckoned it didn't really matter. He was on the brink of death anyway. Surely, any moment now, he would die. His own wand would be used in his own murder.

"You step away from him, right now, if you don't want me to blast a hole right through your head." The snarled command was fierce and loud, standing out against the low, furious hisses coming out of Tom and Voldemort's mouths. Serena took one big step forwards to show she meant business, her chin raised high in the darkness. It made Harry want to weep.

It made Voldemort laugh. It sounded as cold as ever, but Harry noticed the weak ring to it – in fact, the man at his back seemed just as weak and shivery as he himself was. It didn't stop the bastard from being a nightmare in human form, however.

"Bravery," Voldemort purred, laying his mouth just beside Harry's left ear to speak softly into it. "We both know just how far that takes us, don't we, _Harry_. After all, wasn't it useless sentiment such as _bravery_ that was the downfall of your weak... useless... parents...?"

Not even thinking about it, Harry brought his elbow forwards, and slung it back again with as much force as he could muster. It hit the body behind him right in the softness of the guts, making it draw backwards in surprise and pain, and suddenly he was free.

He promptly fell to the floor at the doppelgänger's feet. His whole body hurt like hell. And the pain only increased, to the point where he was screaming involuntary in agony. It felt like he was pulled apart from the inside.

Something inside of him reaching out for something else.

A piece missing.

A hole that needed to be filled.

All air went out of him as a heavy body fell over his own, landing heavily on his soft stomach, a yell in agony imitating his own coming out of it. Until the pain suddenly was gone again and they both fell silent as one.

Harry's hip ached, pressed painfully to the floor by the heavy body sprawled on top of his own.

_What the hell had just happened?_

Groaning in pain, Harry tried to arise, but he didn't get far before a long-fingered hand curled around his neck, forcing him down firmly against the floor. He could feel the sharp tip of his own holly wand digging into the middle of his chest.

"One move... and he's dead," Voldemort gasped in direction of his second self.

There was a moment of complete silence as the three wand wielding sorcerers glared at each other, caught in stalemate. Until a sudden shrill voice, heavy with accent, sounded from the doorway.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Three wands flew through the air as their owners were caught unaware of the fourth party's presence. A swish sounded as Mrs Zabini's wand cut through the air, and the drawn curtains came apart, filling the room up with the soft glow of the moon. Another swish sounded and the silver candlesticks hanging on the dark wooden walls came alive with flame, lighting up the square room, their soft shine seemingly a glare in Harry's bloodshot eyes. There wasn't much to the small space, only dark walls and a marble floor, heavy curtains framing the windows and the doors leading to connected rooms.

Harry squirmed in discomfort, trying his best to make his lax limbs move against the heavy weight holding him down, and he was clawing furiously at Voldemort's hand which was cutting off his air supply. He immediately stopped when the voice of the Necromancer sounded again. "I advice you to stop, all of you. This is not the time for fighting."

"How _dare_ you disarm me," came an angry snarl from Tom's corner of the room. Harry watched in dizzy fascination as his best friend stormed forwards towards the old lady, only stopping short as a chalk white wand was pointed so close to his person it just barely touched the middle of his forehead. He swayed unsteadily. Mrs Zabini, the black of her eyes now all seeped away, stood tall and unfazed by his outburst.

Voldemort shifted slightly in his awkward position, coming to straddle Harry's hips, taking a firmer grip around his neck with both hands so that he almost choked him up completely. The man's bright red eyes paid no attention to the body beneath him, however, but were obsessively plastered onto the one he no doubt deemed the strongest one in the room; Oriane Zabini, who held the wands and thus the power.

Harry wanted to rip the hands away so that he could bite them, hard – and he would have if his arms hadn't been pinned down harshly by the doppelgänger's legs.

"You will hand it back at once, or I swear I'll make all hell break loose. That _vermin_ must be disposed of –" Tom turned his face slightly to look his twin straight in the eyes. "I'll kill it myself."

An evil, strained smirk curled Voldemort's ulcerated lips before he suddenly clenched his hands cruelly. Harry started to struggle desperately as he choked up completely. His ears were ringing. His entire face became very hot. "You forget that I am the one holding the life of our _sweet Harry_ in my hands –"

Voldemort was suddenly cut short as a booted foot under swirling purple robes connected with his chin, throwing him off his victim's body and making him land in a heavy heap against the shadowed wall, right below one of the windows. Harry immediately started to scream in pain as soon as some air had travelled back into his desperately heaving chest.

_What were these random bursts of pain? Hadn't he had enough already? _

Instinctively, he twisted around onto his stomach and crawled towards the shadowed corner, clawing desperately with his right hand to find solace. An equally desperate hand found his own, and suddenly the pain was gone again.

"Bloody hell," he gasped out, sneering in disgust as he realised that the hand he had desperately clawed for belonged to none other than the bane of his existence. Voldemort glared coldly at him from his curled up position, but held his peace, just like a venomous snake lying low in its lair, biding its time. Harry chuckled cruelly as he caught sight of the swelling chin of his nemesis, where Serena's kick had landed, as well as the bloody teeth marks surrounding his pinched mouth.

"What is this?" said Tom in a calm tone of voice, full of murderous intent.

"Listen closely," said a sharp voice, and Harry turned to look at the ticked off form of Oriane, whose wand was now pointed on his own floored form. Or Voldemort's, it was hard to tell, they were too close and she too far away. "Stop behaving like impatient little _bambini_. Have you not suffered enough? This situation now, it's very delicate. You both are in a state of Abstinence."

"Of _what_?" Harry demanded in outrage. On his right, Voldemort let out a furious hiss and then fell completely silent, in the blink of an eye. The painful grip around Harry's hand slackened and became almost gentle. It freaked him out so badly Harry dug his nails into the other hand to over compensate.

"Abstinence," Oriane repeated shortly and stepped closer, her own wand still raised, the other three still held captive in her other skeletal hand. "I told you, Signor Potter, your theories were perfectly planned. But you do not have any understanding of the nature of the soul. The two of you are still linked together with magic. Your souls have been a unit for so long it will take some time for them to part completely."

"_What_?" Harry whispered incredulously, his heart slowly calming down inside of his aching chest.

With a sickening feeling he realised that lying down on his tummy hadn't been the most brilliant idea. The whole world swam and his body was closing down out of exhaustion. It felt like an aeon had passed since he woke up this morning, alone at home in Godric's Hollow, late for his date... So much had happened that the thought of it only being one day seemed outrageous. He was left completely drained... He couldn't possibly keep his eyes open.

"You need to stay connected, at all time, until the link is broken. Or it will be the death of you..."

"Death?" a velvety, familiar voice demanded sharply.

"The souls are accustomed to being connected. They reach out for each other. If they are too far apart, they will force their way out, and they will pass on to the afterlife. And there, they will be unreachable, even for a Necromancer."

"So they need to stay close at all times then?" a softer, serene voice demanded in an uncharacteristically sharp tone.

"For how long?" The beloved voice again. Harry ached to be closer to it.

He felt so weak.

Cold.

Empty...

* * *

Harry was torn out of restless sleep by the loud noise of a bunch of Muggles brawling outside of the open window, down on the cobblestone street and out of sight. He sat up slightly, leaning on his left elbow, feeling disoriented and oddly empty. The sun shone bright on his face once he came up in level with its beams, and he squinted as the rays travelled into his eyes. The room was extremely hot, and he felt uncomfortably sticky in his shirt and boxers, although he was resting on top of the sheets and not under them.

Blinking away the lingering stickiness in his eyes, he realised that he was not alone in the stiff bed. Next to him, lying on his back looking at the ceiling with a stony expression, was Tom. He held Harry's right hand in his own, tying it together on top of his stomach with the left hand of the third person in the bed. Thankfully the ravage beast of his nightmares was still fast asleep, his head turned away from the other two. The sunlight didn't stretch far enough to reach his curled up form, which was still clad in the deep black copy of Tom's travelling cloak. Obviously, no one had cared enough to undress and tuck him in last night.

At once all of yesterday came rushing back to him, and Harry slowly sank back down onto his pillow, letting out a quiet huff of air.

_Wasn't this a mess?_

"G'moring," he murmured, voice thick from sleep. Tom didn't answer, but only blinked once. Harry swallowed nervously. The look on his beloved's face was unnerving – ice cold and calculating. You just knew he'd been up all night, thinking and scheming. Twisting and turning their situation around, turning it on its end. There was no telling what he'd come up with, and it was frightening for Harry, who had started to rely on his ability to read the other's expression and body language like a book.

Harry had a quick look-around at the room they were staying in, finding it big and airy, but still with a slight twinge of congestion to it. It wasn't exactly littered with furniture and belongings, like Mrs Smith's house was, but there was something with the murky feel to the dark interior that made the space seem smaller than it was. The bed was in a dark, wooden material, whose beddings stood out in the dark room with its pure white colour.

Turning his head back to look at Tom again, he saw he had still not moved a muscle. "You alright?" he asked quietly. Tom's jaw shifted slightly as if he was slowly unclenching his teeth.

"No," he stated at last, some agonised life finally seeping into his dark green eyes.

It hurt Harry to the core to realise just how much Tom was hurting from all that had happened. Fighting for the survival of somebody that he loved, being driven to desperate means to accomplish it. Having to put a previously invisible enemy into his own body, watching his own face threaten the life of one he tried his all to protect. And now, seeing a twisted version of himself having no choice but to keep close to his beloved, sleeping in the same bed... Harry didn't find it at all strange that Tom had decided to stay as a human shield between them all through the night. He couldn't even imagine what he himself would have done if in the same position.

Harry wanted to cling onto the one beside him, smothering him with feather-light kisses, telling him it would all work out fine. But he instinctively realised that would not go down well. Tom was too wired up, and their current relationship was too fragile for such a display.

"I'm sorry," Harry breathed out, feeling a strong need to say it. To say something to console the other, to help.

Tom finally turned his head to look back at him, his expression telling Harry he wasn't impressed or thankful at all. "You have nothing to apologise for, _stupid_."

"Yes I do," Harry contradicted in the exact same moment he realised he actually did. "I'm sorry about your ring; for using it as payment and for not telling you about it... what it could do."

Without comment, Tom simply turned his head away and returned to his process of slowly picking the ceiling apart with his eyes.

"I was just..." Harry swallowed uncomfortably and tried to bat away the queasy feeling clenching his belly. He found solace in the warm feeling spreading through his right hand. At least Tom was still holding onto it, even if it only was to make sure he stayed connected with the Leech of Death, it still reassured him he wasn't completely a dead case to the other. After all, if he really wanted to, Tom could just stand up and walk away. But he didn't and that said something. It gave Harry the courage to carry on.

"I haven't known about it for very long. You know that day I went to visit Leda?" Tom didn't visibly react, but Harry still knew he was listening closely. "He ended up telling me that _Gaia _needed to see me. He suggested that I should go to the graveyard in Godric's Hollow, take off the ring and flip it over three times. Well, I did and to my disbelief it actually worked. And..." Harry had to swallow again as they started trekking onto _very_ private ground. He hadn't told anyone about this, and he hadn't planned to either. "Lora came back to life."

Tom's brows furrowed a millisecond before his head turned sharply to pierce Harry's eyes with his own gaze. "It actually _works_?" he murmured in a tormented, furious voice. He was obviously thinking in the lines of his best friend having conquered death and then not told him about it.

"No, not like that," Harry hurried to fill in, hating the look of betrayal colouring the other's face. "Bad wording. She wasn't alive; not by any means. It was more like... she was _there_, like a ghost almost. But sort of a bit more corporeal, and still... she didn't have any proper senses left, and she wasn't really herself." Harry sighed deeply and shifted slightly to find a more comfortable position on the stiff mattress. "It's really hard to explain. But, it wasn't like she'd become alive again. She always disappeared after a period of time. She didn't belong back in her body, and... I was just borrowing her, sort of, it was all just... I was over the moon I could have her back, you know, but at the same time I knew she didn't belong. It just... It was just very personal and... well, painful. I... I haven't told anyone about it. No one at all... well, except you."

Tom kept looking him in the eyes even after his awkward struggle for the right words was cut short. Harry was almost certain he would be berated and scorned for what he'd done, but to his surprise, Tom just averted his gaze and turned back to look up at the ceiling. There ought to be a scorched hole somewhere in it, Harry thought, with all the intense staring it had been put through.

Still with the urge to explain himself, to remove some of the pain in Tom's eyes, he carried on. "You know that theory I had about death? That we all merge with the essence of the world and eventually become new people, reborn... Well, it's not really something I made up but, Lora said..." Harry mentally slapped himself for his useless babbling and tried to patch up the mess he was about to make. "I know that you hate even stepping close to the topic, and we didn't talk about it at any length... But –"

"I remember," Tom concluded tensely, looking very guarded, as if he knew what was being said but didn't want to face it.

"...yeah," Harry whispered uselessly, losing all courage to carry on. He didn't want to trigger Tom's thanatophobia with his reckless comments. There was enough pain already, for both of them. "This is all so messed up," he murmured instead, laying the back of his left hand over his eyes to shield them in a tired gesture. The room was still very hot, and the open window didn't help matters.

"Yes," Tom agreed shortly, still lying stiff as a board.

"What are we going to do now?" Harry whispered after a while, removing the hand over his eyes to look up at the ceiling as well. It was very dark and wooden, just like the walls surrounding it. But here and there little specks of white could be seen where some of the old paint was loosening from whatever was hidden beneath the surface.

"Stay here," Tom answered softly in a bitter tone of voice, "wait until you're free of the Abstinence. Then, we can finally kill _that_," he made a slight twitch of the head towards the still form to his right, "and be done with it."

An uneasy feeling twisted Harry's already worried stomach into a knot. "Sounds good, only," he said, clearing his throat before continuing, "you're not killing him. I am."

Tom turned to look at him with an amused, very unimpressed expression. "You?" he said mockingly. "You're not going to do it. You couldn't even kill Tobias Snape when you had the chance. Wouldn't even do it with my loving support. You couldn't even harm a _fly_!" he finished with a stiff grin, mocking humour dancing in his eyes.

Harry smiled back at him. "You'd be surprised," he said, thinking about the swarm he'd scorched to death in a rage the other day, but he wasn't going to reveal that. It hadn't been his finest moment, exactly. No matter, Tom still didn't look impressed, and Harry's grin slowly faltered in the silence. "I will kill him. Believe me, if there's anyone I could despise enough to wish dead, it's him."

Tom's eyebrows furrowed in thought, his smile slipping off, but his eyes still held some mirth. "Oddly enough, I find that quite offensive."

Harry smiled warmly back at him, feeling how his own eyes softened up considerably. "You shouldn't take offence. You're not _him_. You're completely different – he's more like an odd relative of yours... He's like... 70 years old, or something. Fucking ancient! And _evil_! Bloody diabolical! He's nothing like you."

That made Tom's smile return, and they both shared some amused chuckles while the item of their mirth slept on, completely oblivious. Lying this close to Tom felt great, and Harry started to feel a warm feeling spreading through his chest, up his neck and onto his face – a warmth that had nothing at all to do with the scorching fierceness of the Italian summer heat.

"Look, Tom, I... I'm a bit worried. Er, about last night, when... Did you actually almost kill Serena?"

The question made its way out of his lips on its own accord, becoming stuttered and awkward as it hang in the silence of the room after it had been spoken. Tom kept looking at him without blinking.

"Yes," he finally stated in a calm voice. "I was completely prepared to execute my own plan, to make a Horcrux... I couldn't sacrifice myself like that, giving up my body and soul to merge with... _that_." Tom threw the still body of his clone a dirty look. "But I couldn't let you sacrifice yourself either. If Zabini hadn't given us a third option, there's no question about it. I would've killed... I would've killed them all for you... 'Never again victimized', remember?"

Harry did. Clearly.

_The day after the asylum incident, all those years ago, they'd made a pact when they woke up in Harry's comfortable bed._

_"Never again, I won't stand for it. I won't let myself be victimized. Ever," Tom had said, staring his friend deep in the eyes._

_"Never again victimized," Harry had agreed in complete understanding and made a firm decision then and there never again to let himself get locked in – get treated like some wicked freak, like a victim. He'd learn to defend himself – whatever it took. _

He did understand what Tom was getting at. The situation itself had been extreme enough – and to make that sort of decision in the blink of an eye... And taking into account his cold disposition towards people he didn't care for.

Harry did understand to some extent why Tom had acted like he had, how he could have been prepared to go to such extremes. But he didn't like it! It scared him no end when he thought about where that state of mind could take Tom in the future. What it could turn him into.

"Yeah, I remember," he said in a rough voice, clearing his throat awkwardly, "still... I don't like it."

"Of course you don't," Tom deadpanned with a twinge of humour.

"Don't," Harry pleaded, "don't turn this into a joke. I'm serious – I don't like the thought of you turning to a murderer on my behalf. Or at all, for that matter!"

"Whatever," Tom said with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling again, avoiding his companion's eyes and words.

"It's not _whatever_," Harry insisted intently, sitting up slightly to force the other to look at him. He was immediately hit on the back of his head by the scorching sun rays creeping through the open window. Tom still avoided looking into his eyes, a slight frown marring his forehead. "Wasn't it you who said you didn't want to turn out like _him_, because it would make me hate you? Wasn't it you who was the first to turn your wand on him as soon as he opened his eyes yesterday? Murder changes people, Tom. I don't want you to change."

Tom's upper lip twisted into a sneer and the corner of his right eye started twitching. "You're such a little hypocrite," he murmured resentfully, making Harry shy away a little, worried. "Didn't you just tell me you are going to kill _him_ at the first opportune moment? Won't that change you too, or are you suddenly magically immune to being affected by such _evil _acts? Won't that scar your soul in the same way it would mine?"

Harry sat gaping for a moment, before spluttering, "But that's completely different! It's not the same thing!"

"How so?" Tom demanded, finally finding enough gall to meet his eyes, just in the moment Harry got the urge to turn away his.

"Well, I'm not sadistic like you are, that's how! I'm not prancing around, fantasizing about feeding people to the dogs and using their kneecaps for Quidditch practice – am I? It won't change me in the same way. It won't be my last straw before exploding." The moment he'd finished he instantly regretted every single word. The look on Tom's face tied his worried stomach to a tight knot and he instantly felt sick.

If Tom had looked betrayed when faced with the reality of Harry hiding the truth about the Resurrection Stone from him, it was nothing compared to how he looked now.

Harry let out a helpless yelp in pain as his right hand was disconnected from the firm hold the other had had on it, and watched in despair as Tom turned his back and stormed out of the room. "Tom wait! I'm sorry!" he croaked, and then yelled it a little louder. But it was no use, he was alone.

Well, not completely alone, he realised with dread as a claw like hand pounced on him and took a firm hold around his right biceps, instantly removing all pain from his senses. Looking to his right, he saw the carbon copy of Tom lying still with an impassive expression on his sweaty face, his mouth a mess of stale blood, his red eyes watching him callously.

With a great sigh, Harry threw back his head onto the soft pillow behind him and closed his eyes. "Bloody brilliant," he muttered resentfully.

Then, he resolutely sat up and arose from the bed, pulling Voldemort's lax body with him by tugging his own arm forwards to let the other's grip around it manipulate him to follow. When finally back on his two feet, Harry realised he felt physically better than he had in a long time. A good night's rest and the lack of a gruesome monster at the back of his head, sucking the life out of him, had apparently restored him completely. He felt great!

All the air was suddenly slammed out of him as Voldemort suddenly manhandled him into the wall. His head twisted itself uncomfortably to the side, straining his neck, as his left cheek was pressed firmly against the surface. Behind his back, Voldemort entwined his arms into a painful twist commonly used by Muggle cops. Coming out of his stupor, Harry's fury grew tenfold. With sick satisfaction, he twisted out of the painful grip and brought Voldemort's new-found body down onto the floor, grinning crookedly at the sound of the other's scull slamming against the hard floor.

"What the _hell's _wrong with you?" he growled furiously, settling in a similar position to the one they'd been in last night, only with him being on top, straddling Voldemort's hips and crushing his neck with both hands.

The change in the man was immediate. One moment he was twisting furiously in Harry's grip, hissing and coiling like a ticked off Cobra, the next he fell completely still. His deep red eyes softened to become almost distant and he went completely lax and compliant.

Harry stared down at him with unnerved wonder, his muscles tense and ready in case the man beneath him suddenly acted up again. But he didn't! The seconds ticked by, one by one, and Voldemort lay completely still.

"... Just what are you trying to pull?" Harry finally asked wearily, leaning closer. "You think you could outmatch _me_? Do you know just how weak Tom's body is from all his sitting around inside all day? I was one of Gryffindor's _Beaters_ for five years – I've battled _Bludgers _tougher than you!" He leaned in even further, making Voldemort's passive face finally twist into a disgusted sneer at the proximity. Harry leered down at him, infused with overwhelming hubris for outmatching the _oh so great_ You-Know-Who. "I might be weakened from that stunt you've pulled on me the last couple of weeks. But just _how_ stupid are you, trying to knock me out? Besides, you couldn't even get five steps away from me before suffering intense pain. What, are you daft or something?"

Harry took immense pleasure in watching the fury burn through Voldemort's eyes, but then the feeling turned to confused disappointment when the look disappeared again, leaving nothing behind in its wake. "I take that as a 'yes'," Harry muttered under his breath as he arose swiftly, pulling the other with him with a crushing grip around his wrist.

After pulling on the trousers he'd worn yesterday, which lay neatly folded on a stool next to the door, Harry dragged his outrageously passive leech out of the room to go find some better company.

* * *

It took him about twenty minutes to find any other living beings in the labyrinth of a house. He had searched through room after room, soon getting lost in the enormous home, left with no other choice but to continue trying without any magic to help him. His wand was mysteriously lost after last night's escapades, the last person holding it being the owner of the house herself. Harry grudgingly suspected the others had deliberately kept his wand at safe distance from him in case Voldemort got the brilliant idea of stealing it again.

Slightly cranky, but still with a rush of energy after getting his stamina back, Harry finally entered a spacious dining room on the second floor where he at last came upon some familiar faces. One of which had him gaping helplessly in surprise.

"_Aby_? Is that really you?" he shrieked with a wide smile and walked closer to the sitting couple, who were enjoying a tasty looking breakfast. Abraxas looked up at him with a smile to match his own that immediately faltered as he caught sight of what came trailing behind Harry's back.

"Oh sweet Merlin, is that uncanny," he said, looking both crept out and involuntarily fascinated at the same time. Behind him, Voldemort hissed something in Parseltongue he couldn't make out. By the sound of it, he was furious about something again.

"Oh yeah," Harry agreed sullenly, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table, encouraging Voldemort to seat himself beside him with a sharp tug on his arm. He got no reaction for his manhandling, but got rewarded with a simple following of orders. "Can't wait till all this is over."

As soon as they had sat down, identical servings of food appeared before them – almost certainly provided by the obedient house-elf from the night before. _Beppe_, Harry believed he'd heard Serena call him. At first flabbergasted that what was before him could actually pass as proper breakfast (a cup of hot cappuccino, three very creamy Swiss rolls, a chocolate filled croissant as well as four ripe strawberries) he then decided he liked Italy _very much_ if he'd get to eat this sort of sweets every morning. Voldemort didn't seem as impressed, but only poked lazily at his plush croissant. Harry couldn't care less.

"What happened to his lips? And his chin?" Abraxas asked in an unnerved voice that revealed his disgust.

Harry smirked wickedly, pleased with the memory. "I bit him," he declared and sipped lazily on his cup of coffee.

"I kicked him," Serena deadpanned right after, toasting Harry silently with her own coffee cup, only causing Abraxas to look even more concerned.

"Right," he replied hesitatingly, still casting weird glances at Voldemort. Harry deeply wished they could all just ignore him and speak of something pleasant instead. "Hey!" Abraxas suddenly exclaimed, stopping Harry in his action of devouring his sharp red berries. "I recognise those eyes! You had those same eyes once – in that bathroom, just before you tried to... To _Cruciate _me!" His eyes widened comically. "So that was what was happening, even then!"

"I just told you, Aby," Serena said calmly, patting Abraxas on the shoulder affectionately. "He's been side-alonging onto Harry's soul this whole time."

"And he's Tom's future self?" the nervous young man asked as if in disbelief.

"No," Harry stated calmly, "they're completely different." He felt more than saw how Voldemort shot an amused sideways glance at him and then finally picked up a strawberry from the table and ate it in one go, his face softening in some sort of odd bliss as he started chewing. "They might technically be the same person essentially... But, they're nothing alike – believe me."

"Oh I believe you, alright," Abraxas said, now looking far angrier than he looked unnerved. "Tom would never hex me like that." Harry threw him a disbelieving look which made his friend look defensive. "Well, not with _that _curse."

Harry felt inclined to agree. Serena didn't look as convinced. "I'd show him a thing or two if he ever tried," she declared, pierced the last bit of cake on her plate with her little silver fork and put it into her mouth.

"I'd show _you_ a thing or two if you did that," Harry said with raised eyebrows, making Serena huff impatiently.

"So you'd just let him do as he pleased, would you?"

"Didn't say I wouldn't give him hell, did I?" Harry countered, making his two friends chuckle quietly. Voldemort started on his Swiss rolls without comment or reaction. Annoyed by his passive demeanour, Harry couldn't help but press the previous topic. "It's put us into all sorts of trouble, hasn't it, this sick fascination with the Unforgivable Curses he has."

Abraxas promptly turned to glare scorchingly at the silently eating Voldemort, reminding Harry of how he always used to try to set Professor Dippet's beard on fire every Welcoming Feast at Hogwarts. The memory had him smiling without realising it.

"About that," Serena said, leaning forwards over the table on her elbows, meeting his eyes with a serious expression. "Aby's bringing news. I'm sorry to say it, but Dad's creating havoc at home. He's having the entire Auror Department out looking for us. You're officially a wanted criminal for using the Cruciatus Curse... The good news is that they can't prove anything because of a lack of witnesses – so they'll give you a trial as it looks now."

"Oh my God," Harry whined, burying his head in his free arm, lying down onto the table.

"It's horrible," Abraxas agreed, his eyes shooting daggers at Voldemort, who was still calm as a cucumber and completely unaffected by the news. Harry's blood started to boil with anger. "And what's worse is: your family got wind of it and returned from their vacation, both your parents and your brother, and now they're all in for questioning."

"Aby, please just shut up. I need to breathe!" Taking deep breaths from his hunched position, the anger being replaced by a vicious sense of defeat, he almost started to cry from the hopelessness of it all. How would he _ever_ get out of this mess?

"Are they alright?" he finally asked in a stiff voice, lifting his head to look into the now worried visage of his friend. His neat, white-blonde hairdo lit up like a halo from behind with the help of the sharp sunlight streaming in from the tall windows behind him. His sharp features softened slightly as his light pink lips crept up into a kind smile.

"Yes! Yes, you don't have to worry about them. They don't believe one word of what Mr Melpomene says, of course, and they're battling the Ministry with tooth and nail for you to be cleared of all charges. I think you've got a decent chance, actually."

"I do?" Harry questioned with wonder, gaining himself another sideways glance from the Leech King. In response, he clenched his hand around the man's wrist, so that it couldn't have been anything else than painful. Still no reaction.

"Yes, I believe so," Abraxas answered with a great smile sharpening up his features again. "I don't think you should worry. You've got a very competent family – and your aunt, Katherine Potter, is on the Wizengamot as well, isn't she? She's got as much authority as Mr Melpomene has – if not more! His reputation isn't what it once was ever since he was sacked from his post as Minister."

"Besides," Serena cut in unexpectedly, "if none of that works, we've got enough shit on him to work it out ourselves. Last time someone stole another sorcerer's magic away they got locked into Azkaban for ten years. We'll be fine."

Desperate to believe his friends' judgement, Harry let himself relax. Worrying right now would just mess things up even further. All he needed to do right now was wait the Abstinence out, kill Voldemort and then live happily ever after. Yeah, that sounded like a nice plan, he decided and finished his half-eaten breakfast.

* * *

After Harry had eaten his fill, not caring in the least that he didn't let Voldemort finish his plate of sweets, the scavenger hunt through the enormous house proceeded. It was a ridiculous notion, in his opinion, that this entire building was dedicated to one lonely elder and her fat house-elf. The place was _huge_! In fact, it was so big Harry suspected it had been enlarged from the inside with magic, since the interior certainly didn't match its outwards appearance. It could certainly house several families at once, no problem. It could be mistaken for a hotel, for Merlin's sake! It just seemed such a waste, Harry thought. But he didn't comment.

With the help of Serena's directions, although she had refused to come with him while wearing a besotted expression and sneaking peaks at her boyfriend as he spoke to her, he finally made it to the big stairwell and down to the ground floor. He'd hoped to encounter Tom in one of the many rooms he'd searched through, but he was nowhere to be found. Extremely embarrassed about what he'd said this morning, Harry felt the strong need to apologise. He had meant what he said: he _did_ believe Tom's sadistic tendencies would get him into trouble if he got a taste for taking a life. But it had been very unkind to point it out so bluntly. He had fooled himself into thinking they were back to how they had behaved around each other when younger, bantering about this and that in all friendliness, but the reality didn't look like that. Their relationship was far too fragile now to treat that carelessly. And therefore, he felt he was in the wrong. Also, the look on Tom's face deeply inspired him to practically crawl on his knees if that would make the look disappear.

But as it was, he did not find Tom. However, he did come upon the other person he'd been seeking out. As he exited the patio leading to the front door, entering the small courtyard with the big willow in the middle, he walked in on a scene that stuck him like a needle through the heart.

Under the tree stood Oriane Zabini, her skeletal form looking even more fragile in the unforgiving daylight than it had the night before. She wore thin grey robes reminding Harry of spider webs, and her long hair swirled around her gaunt face in the soft breeze. Her thin hands were cupped in front of her and inside them the black gem of the Resurrection Stone lay sparkling.

But what was most heartbreaking about the scene was a combination of the look on her face and the transparent old man standing in front of her. Harry barely had enough time to watch the shady form reach out to touch Mrs Zabini's wrinkly cheek, before it drifted away in a swirl of golden particles. The moment he was gone, the old lady fell to the ground on her knees and let out the most feral shout of utter agony Harry had ever heard. He instantly got the strong instinct to rush forwards and comfort her as best he could – but remembering how it had felt for him meeting Lora, how private an experience it had been for him, he stopped himself. Mrs Zabini probably didn't want him to disturb her anyway – they didn't know each other.

Throwing her a last pitying look, Harry turned slowly to walk away, thanking all mercy that Voldemort was still obediently following him like a collared puppy. He didn't get far before a shrieked command from behind made him halt in his tracks.

"_You_! Get back here! What did you see? Who do you think you are? Come here!"

Suddenly terrified, it was a Necromancer he was dealing with after all, Harry slowly turned back around and crossed the stony path to come stand closer to the old lady on the patch of grass surrounding the willow. Voldemort followed with an expression of utter boredom. Mrs Zabini eyed them with a feral snarl ready on her lips.

"I'm so sorry," Harry hurried to say, "I didn't mean to interrupt."

The old lady kept looking at him in silence, her entire body language screaming she felt backed into a corner. "Didn't your parents teach you not to spy on your elders?" she said through gritted teeth, her accent heavier than ever due to her stirred up emotions.

"I'm really sorry," Harry insisted, "this must have been a very personal and difficult experience... I'm sure you wanted to be alone with –"

"That is none of your business," Oriane shrieked, actually backing herself up against the tree trunk. Fat tears started to roll out of her pale eyes. "You know nothing about me, or about Amadis."

"Was he... your husband?" Harry asked carefully, stepping a little closer without realising. "Are you alright?"

"Don't come any closer!" Oriane shrieked in her shrill voice, wiping away the wet on her cheeks furiously. "This war hasn't been kind to any of us..." she said in a softer tone, before scrunching up her face as if she'd tasted a sour lemon. "You _tricked _me! Fooled me! This doesn't resurrect! This is a ploy – a lie!"

"But," Harry tried, helplessly trying to make things better for the old lady who was so obviously hurting. "You got to see him at least, right? You could meet him again, whenever you want."

"He's not coming back," Oriane rasped out, hiccuping in sorrow, pressing her twig like hands over her shivering mouth. "_Lui mi ha lasciato qui, da sola_. _Perché_, Amadis? _Perché_? Nothing I know will bring him back to me." Coming to her senses, she lifted her head to meet his eyes with a murderous expression. "Let me through!" she snarled and tore through the courtyard and up onto the patio.

With wide eyes, Harry bent down to pick up something which was gleaming in the grass. Holding it up he shouted for the old witch. "Mrs Zabini, wait, the ring! You forgot the ring!"

She stopped in her tracks, let out a snarled stream of words in quick succession that Harry was certain could be nothing else than curses, looked back at him once and then marched back into her grand house. "Keep it, I don't want to see it again!" she shouted in utter misery behind her as she went.

Next to him, Voldemort quenched a big yawn behind his fist, and above him from the higher levels of the house he heard the ringing laughter of two people in love.

Harry closed his eyes tiredly and put the ring back onto his right hand index finger.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for reading. And an especially big thank you to smilingcrescent for your wonderful reviews and uplifting conversations. If you like stories that focuses on a character study of Tom Riddle, you should check her fic "A Kept Devil: Tom Riddle's Diary" out. I love it!_

_Mischief managed! _


	15. Fall Apart

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Fifteen

_Fall Apart_

* * *

Harry was definitely _not_ having a good time. He was, once again, completely lost in the grand maze of dark rooms Mrs Zabini liked to call her home. He had trekked from room to room, forcing an eerily silent and compliant Voldemort to follow on his endless quest for friendly faces. But so far, he was out of luck. Tom was still nowhere to be seen – neither were Serena or Abraxas.

The world around them was boiling in heat, the mid-day sun high on the clear blue sky. Its light shone through the closed windows and past the heavy curtains framing them. How people could stand living through this sort of temperatures _every summer_ was beyond him, and Harry was getting pretty sick of being so warm and sticky all the time. A calmer, more composed part of him recognised he should probably consider looking out for a bath to soak and cool down in on this desperate crusade of his, but the majority of his psyche refused to even consider it given the situation he'd found himself in. He bloody _refused_ taking a bath with _Voldemort. _

Harry turned around slightly to look at the man in question, glaring coldly at him but getting no other response out of the man than a couple of raised, unimpressed eyebrows. They had finally come to the conclusion their strange Abstinence bond was slowly but surely dissolving. They no longer needed to stay connected through body contact, but they did need to stay close still. Two meters – three if they wanted to push it.

Huffing out his annoyance and turning back around, Harry began muttering under his breath while pulling yet another dark wooden door open to inspect the last room in the very long and slim corridor. It was, yet again, a simple guest room. He slammed the door closed again, turned around and hurried passed a frowning Voldemort to try his luck in the other end of the corridor, where he could choose between a right and a left turn.

"This is ridiculous!" he exclaimed aloud, making the old witches and wizards housing the many frames lining the dark walls, which were coated in thick, burgundy wallpaper, frown and whisper between themselves in Italian.

Behind him the sound of Voldemort's summer boots clicking against the floor as he followed him could be heard. The man had now rid himself of the black travelling cloak he had been clothed in and simply strode around in his black slacks and white button-up shirt – which was unbuttoned in the neck and rolled up at the sleeves. Harry pointedly refused to look at the exposed skin.

Ticked off and sticky, he growled irritatedly as they came to a dead end and were forced to backtrack yet again. "Who the _hell_ has the energy to live in this... _hell_?" He kicked angrily at the clean wall in front of them, earning himself a scolding he couldn't make any sense of from one of the nearby paintings – portraying a heavily bearded wizard wearing an apron over his tight-necked robes.

Voldemort let out a deep sigh and opened his mouth for the first time since letting out that huge yawn down in the courtyard. "_Elfo_," he declared in a commanding tone of voice, and immediately the very fat form of the Zabini house-elf, Beppe,appeared with a discrete little _pop. _

"_Sì, signore?_"he muttered out in his deep baritone voice. Harry raised his eyebrows in wonder. How was it Voldemort could order another sorcerer's servant around like that? It shouldn't be possible.

"_Portaci a _Tom Riddle," the infuriatingly overconfident man said in that same commanding tone and to Harry's stunned bewilderment, the house-elf's eyes glazed over, as if under the influence of the Imperious Curse. Then, it slowly raised one flabby arm and pointed with one of its sausage like fingers straight at Voldemort, who sneered down at it in annoyance. "_L'altro _Tom Riddle,stupid creature_._"

"_Non c'è un altro_ Tom Riddle _qui, signore_," Beppe stated in an eerily monotone voice.

"What's he saying?" Harry demanded impatiently and walked closer to the little elf in question. He looked very tense, his big eyes wide open and unblinking – staring straight at Voldemort.

Clearly, that strange compulsive magic Tom could work on animals and Muggles could be used on some magical creatures as well. Curious that, Harry thought to himself; Tom had never mentioned anything about it. On the other hand, the only other house-elves they had ever encountered (except for Harry's run in with that little misery _Dobby_, of course) were Serena's elf, Pinky, and Mrs Smith's Hokey. And Tom had certainly never tried to work his magic on either of them – at least to Harry's knowledge.

"It implied _I_ am the only Tom Riddle in this house," Voldemort drawled, looking bored and detached again. Harry's heart promptly sank to the bottom of his guts at the news.

"_What_?" he hissed between clenched teeth, piercing the elf with burning green eyes. "What's that supposed to mean? Where is he?" Neither Beppe nor Voldemort made any comment, and Harry felt the last of his patience leave him. "WHERE IS HE?" he bellowed down at the elf, whose flabby arm started to shiver in fear, creating little wavelike movements across its grey skin. "We've got to find him," he snapped with a quick glare Voldemort's way. The man still looked completely unimpressed and let out yet another quiet sigh in boredom.

A dark mist of fury and pure _loathing_ clouded Harry's mind as he looked at the man of his nightmares. How he even _dared_ to stand around _looking bored_, wearing Tom's body like a suit while the real Tom was _missing_. How did he even have the guts to look Harry in the eye after all the pain he'd caused? After everything they'd been through!

The anger made Harry blanch as he stepped even closer to the other. He raised his arm, aimed and coldly slammed his closed fist right into Voldemort's unshielded cheek.

The man fell back, cupping his wounded face with a look of complete surprise. They stood still staring at each other for a number of heated seconds, but the stunned disbelief soon seeped away, giving way to a deep black fury, and Voldemort immediately rushed forwards with a murderous expression on his pale face. He came so close that Harry felt his hissed out breaths attacking his face in short puffs, and their noses just barely touched.

Harry thought for sure he would get punched back, but to his stunned disbelief, no such thing happened. Voldemort just stood there, breathing through his teeth, resembling a furious dragon woken from its restful slumber. The lack of a brawl made Harry pause, calming down, the black cloud slowly seeping away, leaving him quite befuddled._ What was Voldemort playing at_?

"What's the matter with you?" he questioned in a tone silent as death, glaring hatefully up at the pale face mere millimetres from his own. "Why aren't you fighting back?"

"_Are you aware how weak Tom's body is from just sitting around all the time? I've battled Bludgers tougher than you!_" Voldemort mock quoted in a ridiculous squeaky voice, sneering nastily.

"I don't sound like that!" Harry protested, and then mentally slapped himself for giving in to such childish bickering. "I bloody _hate_ you," he growled out, shoving Voldemort backwards with a rough push against his chest.

"Believe me, the feeling is mutual," came an immediate snarl back at him as the other man straightened his back proudly like a ticked off cobra. "I had it all, I was the greatest wizard _alive_... I was feared and worshipped like a _god_! I had servants loyal enough to _die_ for me... I ruled the revolution that would alter reality itself... I was closer than you can even _imagine_, you silly _child_... I had power you couldn't possibly begin to understand, I had mastered magic of unmatched power... I had conquered _death_! And then _you_," Voldemort said quietly, his red eyes filled with murderous intent. "You took it all from me."

"_I_ took it all from _you_?" Harry yelled, beyond angry. "Do you have _any idea_ just what I have lost because of you? You killed my parents!"

"You killed _me_!" Voldemort said in a low voice, backing minutely with eyes widened as if in madness.

"_You_ killed you," Harry countered, taking little steps closer as the other backed away, "and funny that: here you are, alive and well thanks to _me_. But my parents are _dead_."

"Your parents are not even _born_ yet."

Harry let out a humourless laugh and shook his head. "Oh, how convenient for you – you think that will make me forgive you, do you? I still had to suffer my entire childhood without them."

"Your childhood doesn't even begin to compare to what _mine _was like, Harry Potter..."

That statement made Harry falter slightly, reminded of the terrifying fact it was a twisted version of his Tom who stood in front of him. Not the same, but related. Thinking those thoughts made his stomach twist in sour tasting guilt. They had both grown up at the same orphanage, he told himself, although Tom had managed to escape it at the age of thirteen, whereas Voldemort...

Harry's head cleared of all hesitation, and he resolutely settled on feelings of hate as Voldemort spoke again in his quiet voice. "You think you've known pain? You know nothing."

"I know nothing, do I?" Harry said with a wide grin twisting his face, but not reaching his furious eyes. "Because _you_ haven't been lodged inside of my head, causing me nothing but pain, right? You're so full of it!" He raised his arm to land another heavy blow, but for some reason he hesitated at the look in Voldemort's eyes. What he saw there made him freeze.

Fear.

Not obvious, but Harry could read Tom's expressions well enough to notice it, hidden beneath a mask of indifference. Once again, he was assaulted by unwelcome feelings of guilt.

"What choice did I have?" Voldemort murmured, his lips barely moving.

Harry slowly lowered his fist. "What?" he breathed out, frowning in mistrust. The rays of the midday sun seeped through the lonely window in the slim corridor, some of them hitting Voldemort's mangled face. It made him look strangely vulnerable.

"I was trapped inside... Far worse than last time – at least as a spirit I could see. And feel... There were some moments when I found the strength to dig myself out... I felt human again. But then, the next moment I was back in the chains binding me... If I hadn't done _something_... I cannot die. I will _never_ die."

The two wizards looked at each other with disgust, both haunted by memories of the past.

The thanatophobia, Harry thought with dismay. Voldemort obviously hadn't been spared from it. That fact, if something, hit a little too close to home for comfort and Harry swallowed thickly.

Pushing his confusing thoughts away, the decades younger wizard then levelled a hateful glare at the carbon copy of the man he loved – the man he was supposed to hate. "We don't have time for this. Make him take us to our room," he snapped shortly, directing his acid glare back at the squirming house-elf.

Voldemort was silent for what felt like an eternity, before sighing lightly and giving the terrified Beppe a short command. Immediately the creature shot off along the maze of corridors and rooms, leaving them to follow. Soon they came to a stop in front of a vaguely familiar door, and when Harry pushed it open he let out a relieved sigh as he caught sight of the unmade bed they'd slept in, as well as the travelling trunk Tom had packed for them, sitting at the bed's foot end.

As Harry hurried forwards towards it, Beppe let out a little squeak of dismay and actually sprinted forwards towards the messy sheets. The motion made the lampshade covering his body wobble stiffly, the little tussles hanging from its bottom dancing merrily back and forwards. The elf quickly snapped his fingers, and let out a relieved little sigh as the sheets came alive and the bed was perfectly neat. In a little _pop_ of magic, he was gone. Harry paid him no mind but quickly flung the lid of the travelling trunk open.

He couldn't help but smile warmly as its neatly arranged contents were revealed to him. No matter how harried they had been yesterday, Tom had apparently still found the time to fold and sort every little thing properly into handsomely straight piles and rows. Harry shook his head and started to rummage through the stacks of books, clothing, toiletries, vials and trinkets. In the middle of his desperate search, his hands brushed against something soft and slightly prickly. Fishing it out from under a pile of neatly folded underwear, his and Tom's all mixed up, Harry couldn't help but gape as he recognised what it was.

In their first year at Hogwarts together, Silas had taught Harry how to knit, a practice that had resulted in an ugly little kettle-holder which had instantly become food for the open fire. On his second try, however, Harry had managed a scrawny but quite long scarf in a black yarn which he had promptly tossed at Tom, who couldn't afford a Slytherin scarf of his own to warm him at the time.

That black knit was what Harry now held in his hands. For some unfathomable reason, Tom had decided to bring it along for the journey. Burying his nose into the soft material, instantly finding a strong whiff of a beloved scent there, Harry had to hold back a sob at the rush of emotion that assaulted him. It made his resolve to find Tom even stronger, and he reluctantly put the scarf aside.

He picked trinket after trinket out of the trunk, littering the wooden floor beneath him with a mess Tom would no doubt have fit over later and, indeed, Voldemort was currently sitting at the edge of the bed sneering down at the war zone at his feet.

With a great sigh in annoyance, Harry threw the last pair of socks across the room when he didn't find what he was searching for. He let out a snarl and was just about to slam the lid closed when he caught sight of something that made his heart make a startled somersault inside of his ribcage.

Tom's little black notebook.

He knew that whatever was written inside of it, Tom had been working on ever since their last term at Hogwarts. It could be so simple as mere calculations regarding his friend's plots of creating a Horcrux as a way of banishing Voldemort. But Harry had a feeling that wasn't all that lay hidden beneath the inky binders of the book. Even Silas had noticed Tom had been plotting something, and Harry had a feeling there was something going on the other wasn't telling him about. He knew he really shouldn't, but if he did skim through the book lying so conveniently in his hands, perhaps he could intercept whatever Tom was planning. Not because it _had _to be something in need of intercepting, of course, but Harry did have a bad feeling from judging the other's secretive behaviour lately.

He shot Voldemort a quick glance, finding the man back into his bored state of mind, currently sitting with his legs crossed, looking out through the window down onto the cobblestone street below. Assured his personal hell in human form did not pay him any mind, he steeled himself and flipped the book open.

To his disappointment, but not surprise, the pages were completely blank. Going out on a limb, remembering how a certain little diary had worked, he picked up an ink bottle and a quill. With careful movements, he dipped its tip into the black liquid and let it drip slowly onto one of the pages in the book.

At first he didn't think anything had happened at all – but then curved lines started to fade into existence. Harry greedily held the book closer to his face, wondering what he would stumble upon, and almost choked in surprise as the thin lines became a mess of doodles. Of him. Countless little Harrys moving around from page to page in varying states of mind. On some pages he was in the company of a handsome little Tom. Sometimes they were just standing hand in hand, throwing each other affectionate glances – other times they were in the very intimate act of kissing.

Harry could feel himself blush as he sat mesmerised, just looking at the little figures, wrapping his mind around the fact Tom had _made these. _Every single one of them.

Coming out of his stupor at the sound of someone let out a low hiss, he felt his blush darken as he looked up at Voldemort, who had moved a little closer to him so that he could peep down at what Harry was doing. He had a deep sneer of disgust on his face and immediately turned away as he caught Harry looking at him.

Turning his gaze back onto the pages in front of him, he saw that Tom's elegant script had cured into existence.

_Like what you see, Harry?_

Harry snapped the book closed and promptly put it back exactly where he found it – it had contained nothing but doodles, which most likely meant it would take something more than ink to uncover all calculations Harry _knew_ would be written in it. Also, judging by what actually _was _written in it, Tom had known he'd start snooping if given the chance and had taken precautions against him finding anything of value. Digging something out would no doubt be a lot of work, and he had neither time nor wand enough for that at the moment.

Focusing back at the contents of the travelling trunk, Harry narrowed his eyes and huffed impatiently. _Where was it_? Getting to his feet he actually did slap himself as he felt something shift in the right pocket of his pants.

"Merlin, I'm stupid," he murmured in irritation as he dug a little brass mirror out of his clothing, and Voldemort turned to look at him with infuriatingly arched eyebrows and quirked lips. He didn't comment, however, for which Harry found himself very grateful. In a disturbed way, of course.

"Tom," Harry said demandingly, looking deep into the mirror in his hands, and almost immediately the call was answered from the other end of the connection.

"Yes, Harry?" Tom answered calmly, the corners of his mouth curled slightly into a relaxed expression. Just seeing his face, hearing his voice, made Harry calm down in an instant. Tom was alright.

"I just... Are you alright?"

"Why yes, why wouldn't I be?" Tom questioned indifferently, looking at something above the mirror frame which apparently attracted his attention.

"You just left, so I worried..." Harry muttered quietly and then cleared his throat to start anew. "Where are you, then? Found something interesting?"

The question extracted an agreeing hum from out of Tom's throat. "Yes, very interesting. I am currently at Uffizi, although, I doubt you've ever heard of it." Harry did not disagree. "It is a Muggle art museum not too far from our stay... I'll be at 'The Birth of Venus'."

And with that, the connection was cut off and all Harry could see in the mirror was his own dumbstruck face. He frowned in amazement. _Tom was hiding out at a Muggle museum_?_ Of all the places_?

"What the devil?" Harry grumbled, putting the mirror back into his pants with dread. "How will I ever find that place? What was it called again? Up fit something?"

"Uffizi," Voldemort drawled with a sneer, rolling his eyes.

"You know of it?" Harry asked instantly, piercing the other with an intent stare.

Voldemort glared up at him, before sighing and getting to his feet. Then, he proceeded to exit the room in a quick stride, and Harry had no other choice but to follow as he felt that _tug_ warned of what instant pain he would suffer if he didn't comply.

"What are you... Are you taking me there?" he demanded incredulously, making the Lord of Surprises sigh again, stop and then turn to face him with crossed arms and an unimpressed expression.

"I visited Italy from time to time in my past... Which is now my future, and while I have already lived through it, I will have to do it all over again... But yes, you were going to kill me, isn't that right, Harry?" Voldemort said quietly, lazy humour dancing in his eyes as he spoke of Harry's future murder of him. "So that will not pose any trouble for me, I'm sure... Last time I was here must have been in 1966 – oh yes, the Flood of the Arno River, I remember quite clearly... So many casualties," the man said and laughed cruelly. "A very tragic catastrophe, as I recall; all those masterpieces of art and rare books, all gone forever... I'm getting quite sentimental."

"Okay, if you could just hold it with the whole evil super villain act for a second," Harry said, holding his hands up in a halting gesture.

Voldemort smiled a smile that actually reached his eyes at being accused of acting like an _evil_ _super villain_.

"Fine, I get it, you've been here before. You can find your way to this museum, then?"

The other refrained from answering in favour of picking at his fingernails vainly to keep them clean. Something that Harry watched Tom do quite frequently...

Harry sighed deeply and sped passed the other man to find his way out of the house. "Well, we're not going there alone – there's no telling where you'll take me otherwise."

"Harry!" Voldemort called out from behind him, a sprinkle of laughter in his voice. Turning around Harry found the other man pointing in the other direction of the forked hallway he'd sped through. "It's that way."

He found himself sighing, but backtracked despite his annoyance, glaring mildly at the other as he walked past him. "Stop gloating," he muttered resentfully, and continued down the corridor, hearing the light steps of the man following him.

Soon enough, to Harry's grudging relief, they found themselves in the stairwell leading down to the entrance hall – and from the second floor muffled shouting could be heard. As the two men travelled down the steps and came closer to the closed doors from where the row clearly originated, they caught sight of a distressed looking young man pacing in front of them. His silvery eyes glittered vulnerably when he caught sight of them.

"What's going on, Aby?" Harry questioned carefully, reaching out to squeeze the unusually skittish Malfoy's shoulder compassionately, making him sigh shakily.

"Serena's in there... with her father."

"She's _what_?" Harry squealed, and then cleared his throat in embarrassment for the undignified sound he'd made.

"He finally tracked us down... Apparently, he dug out some facts on the two of you... Er, of you and Tom, I mean," Abraxas hurried to insist, shooting a mistrusting glance at the man behind Harry's back. "And after he was done questioning your family, and finding nothing useful to him, he went for a trip to Little Hangleton. After a little persuasive help from an acquaintance of his who is a Master Legilimens, as Veritaserum doesn't work on Muggles I'd wager, Lord Riddle let it spill you'd gone to Italy. As he didn't know much more than that, Mr Melpomene was forced to pay visits to all possible candidates for whom Serena might be staying with. Quite a long list, no doubt, since she grew up here... Well, he's been here for about half an hour, and they're still going at it... He looked right out mental when he arrived – thought he'd start smacking us around, the lot of us. But then he just took her and hugged her like there was no tomorrow."

"He must have missed her," Harry said, deeply wishing it to be true, although his impression of the man was far from good, thus leaving doubts of the outcome of the argument. Hopefully, he would at least be cleared of charges and enabled to return home at some point, but he didn't feel all too optimistic about it.

Abraxas' thin lips curled into a weak smile, momentarily comforted, and then swept his eyes across the hallway with a slight frown. "You haven't found Tom, then?" he questioned quietly, and Harry let go of his shoulder in favour of scratching the back of his own head lightly.

"Not really, I got hold of him at least... He's at this Muggle museum called Unfitsy –"

"Uffizi," Voldemort corrected in a monotone voice.

"Yeah, that," Harry agreed tiredly, letting his arm fall to his side. "We were heading there, but I sort of didn't want to leave with _him_ as my guide... I don't suppose you could, you know?"

Abraxas evaded his eyes and started fiddling with the hem of the sleeveless pullover he wore over his button up shirt, an action that made Harry almost blush and look away. He'd never seen his pompous and well composed friend so nervous before. This whole ordeal must be taking a lot out of him, Harry mused.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I don't think... I shouldn't leave her right now, and... I mean, I don't want to... Is Tom in trouble?"

"Oh, no it's nothing like that," Harry assured quickly, subconsciously moving towards the staircase at the way out as he made his mind up. "I just need to see him. Said something stupid this morning, and... Well, we should be going. Good luck with... Yeah with everything. We'll be right back."

"Harry, wait!" Abraxas called out and hurried forwards in quick strides, his wand held high in his hand.

With dread, Harry watched Voldemort's face contort into a gleeful grin as he sprang forwards and flung himself at the wide-eyed Malfoy. Luckily, the younger had a mind enough to snatch the wand away and throw himself to the side before the attacker zoomed past. The next moment, Harry had caught up to them and the Lord of Surprises lay face down on the ground with a vicious knee pressing against his back from above.

Heart drumming like a caged Bludger in his chest, he looked up at his friend and let out a sigh in relief when he recognised he was completely unhurt, if not ready to pee his pants in amazement. "Sorry about that," Harry said and twisted Voldemort's arms cruelly, earning himself a viciously hissed tirade for his troubles. "He's a bit wild as he hasn't been _neutered_ yet. But don't worry, I'll have it done soon enough."

With a twisted grin, he patted the black strands of hair in front of him like he would a dog's fur, and Abraxas laughed in a startled manner, walking closer with his wand trained on the floored man at his feet. Voldemort's eyes flashed in deadly anger, and his hisses promised certain death to the pair of them.

"I could take care of that if you'd like," Abraxas said with an evil leer, "but I think I'll leave that _honour_ to you, whenever you find the time." Harry grinned up at his friend and at the same time, Voldemort went lax and silent in his grip. "I was going to say," Abraxas continued in a bored drawl, "that you'd best do something about _him_ before you leave. He can not walk around looking like that – not if you don't want to be stopped by the Muggle Aurors."

"Oh, yeah right," Harry said, realising the other was absolutely right about that. Voldemort's face was all swollen and bloody still. His left cheek was shifting in purple and yellow from Serena's vicious kick the night before, his right one was flushed a dark red from Harry's angry fist just moments ago. And his lips were a mess of stale blood and deep wounds where Harry's teeth had sunk in during the Necromantic ritual. "Such a shame," he continued with a mock pout. Voldemort glared up at him. "I liked this look on him; suited him well, I figured. Oh well, I reckon you're right though, the police wouldn't be as pleased as I am at the sight..."

"Thought so," Abraxas agreed and pointed his wand towards the welts and wounds. "Could you turn him around for a bit?"

With wicked glee, Harry grabbed a handful of black hair and twisted the head to the side into a no doubt painful position. Voldemort didn't react in any way, though, and soon he was all clean and patched up. Harry let him go dispassionately and got to his feet, grinning and nodding at Abraxas as he passed him. When he got to the stairs he could feel the pull of the Abstinence bond and realised that his companion hadn't arisen from his position yet. "You coming?" he called out.

Ever so slowly, the muscles and bones in Voldemort's back shifted and the man lifted his sore looking body off the floor and onto his own feet. Harry had to quench a rush of guilt and compassion as he recognised the pain hidden away in the pale complexion as Voldemort sauntered closer to him, glaring hatefully right at an unnerved looking Abraxas all the way to Harry's side.

"Good dog," Harry commended with a crooked grin before giving a last wave to his lonely friend stuck hovering outside double doors of doom. "See you later, Aby!"

* * *

The moment they stepped out of the house they happened upon a river of people swarming around them. Lightly dressed people with skin tanned from the sun, sweaty from the unforgiving heat, many of them laughing loudly and talking quickly to one another. In and out of the shop doors people travelled in and out and on the cobblestone streets marketeers stood yelling out the prizes for their goods.

Knowing his way without trouble, Voldemort sped off the moment the opportunity showed itself, and Harry found himself hurrying to keep up. A large group of people suddenly blocked his way and he lost sight of the tall form leading his way. He had to grit his teeth against the overwhelming pain that threatened to split his chest in two and with desperate need he plunged forwards until he finally held a familiar hand in his.

As the pain seeped away, Voldemort looked down at him and rolled his eyes, before tugging him forwards towards a stone bridge stretching over the huge river splitting the city in two.

As they trekked over and beyond the bridge, people around them started to stop and stare at them, making room with wide eyes and pointing fingers. All of a sudden, someone started to yell angrily from a distance, and more and more of them joined in.

"_Come ti permetti?_"

"_Vaffanculo __omosessuali!_"

"_Non ti vergogni?_"

"_Lasciate questo posto!_"

A group of vicious looking men with gorilla like arms made out of bulky muscles came towards them, pointing and yelling. The people around them nodded in agreement and stood back to allow them passage. Harry turned to look up at his companion with fear in his eyes. They were unarmed and vulnerable, after all.

"What are they saying?"

Voldemort sneered in disgust and hissed something under his breath, keeping his eyes locked on the group of men coming towards them. "They're silly, homophobic _Muggles_," he growled, clutching Harry's hand even harder to make a point.

Suddenly terrified, Harry subconsciously backed to stand slightly behind the other man, feeling momentarily calmed by the human shield before him. But he didn't realize any of this, for his eyes were trained on the furious Muggles coming closer and closer to the two of them. One of the most gruesome of them, a man with a large scar marring his sunken face, flexed his muscles threateningly. Harry straightened his back bravely, meeting his eyes head on.

When the men were only a few feet away, Voldemort took a proud step forwards and spoke in a loud commanding tone that made chills run down Harry's unshielded back. "_Sta indietro_!"

At once, all the Muggles swarming the streets shrunk back to form a line against the house walls. The street before them cleared completely, and all men and women surrounding them stood at the ready as if soldiers in a platoon. Harry saw the man with the scar amongst them, his eyes vacant and dull.

"_Chinate_!"

Voldemort smirked triumphantly as the people at his command simply bent down in a respectful bow. Then, the Dark Lord in captivity tugged at the hand in his to make him follow as he walked down the road.

Harry could hear the older man let out a deep-throated snicker while he looked at all the people surrounding them. As they travelled further along the road, all the people before them made room with vacant expressions, bowing for them, while the ones behind them simply fell back to do whatever they had been doing before the interruption.

"You love this, don't you," Harry accused in a mild tone, secretly relieved he hadn't been beaten to a pulp for holding hands with his nemesis. Voldemort shot him an amused glance and smiled wickedly.

"Yes."

* * *

The museum was big, old and very impressive. Along the slim corridors stood full size sculptures of men and women. But what caught Harry's attention really was the ceiling, which was cluttered with piece after piece, all of them different. In the adjoined rooms hung paintings of old in heavy, golden frames. Harry found himself wishing they had been magical paintings, so that the figures portrayed could have moved around freely.

They had had to climb marble staircases to get to the gallery itself, and if not for Voldemort's strange compelling abilities, he didn't know how they would have slipped inside. But well inside, the compulsion magic was let go of, and they were currently cruising through the many visitors on vacation on their way to the museum's signature piece: "The Birth of Venus".

As he caught sight of the familiar back of Tom, the _real_ one, he could feel his heart swell inside his chest. He stood in front of the enormous painting of a beautiful young woman, barely covered with the help of her hands and long, golden hair. But despite being faced with this indubitable, otherworldly fairness of the woman ideal, Harry couldn't help but keep his eyes trained on the man in front of it. Tom had the face and body of a pure Adonis. Harry truly had never seen anyone of greater beauty in all his life.

He hurried forwards and couldn't help but wrap his arms around the young man's waist once he reached him. Tom stiffened in surprise, but chuckled amusedly once he recognised the slightly shorter form for who it was.

After a couple of seconds, with a handful of wide-eyed spectators muttering resentfully amongst themselves for the public display, Tom slowly nudged the one attached to him away with a firm grip on his shoulders. He was still looking at the painting, making Harry's mind cloud over with slight irritation, stinging him like little thunder clouds.

"Honestly, Tom," he huffed, crossing his arms and evading his eyes to the goddess of love to find distraction. "Why did you have to go run away like that? You had me worry, you know. You could at least have told me where you'd gone to... I could have come with you from the start."

Behind them, people were moving slowly from side to side, inspecting the artwork surrounding them with critical eyes. Voldemort stood by the doorway, leaning against the wall with a dispassionate expression on his face, obviously bored out of his mind again but unable to do anything about it.

"This painting is just magnificent, don't you think so also?" Tom said with confidence, completely discarding all of Harry's earlier comments.

"Yeah, sure," he agreed impatiently. "I just... You left so quickly, I never got the chance to apologize."

"It was painted by Sandro Botticelli in the end of the fifteenth century. So long ago, and still sought after and admired as one of the greatest works of art in the _world_."

"It's really nice," Harry assured and frowned in irritation at being so blatantly ignored. "He was a great artist. But, as I said, I wanted to apologize for what I said earlier. I didn't mean –"

"He truly is an immortal man, Botticelli. He will never be forgotten, he will always be admired and loved – as will his work."

Harry was really starting to get pissed off by now. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't think properly, I didn't really mean what I said. I mean, I know that you _do _have sadistic tendencies, but –"

"But I can not help but wonder, what is the purpose of it all when he is not even here to experience it? The admiration and the power of celebrity. What use is it to be immortal in history when not in flesh?"

Harry sighed deeply, feeling a slight headache coming on. He didn't even remember the last time he'd drunk anything. Perhaps it had been at breakfast, but that had only been coffee, which hadn't really relieved him of any thirst in this tropical weather. His mouth felt sticky and his throat was dry. "Good points, you are very clever. Now, will you _listen to me_? I'm asking your forgiveness here, can't you at least meet me half way?"

Tom lifted his left hand to rub circles at his temples with his thumb and index finger. He looked tired. "You don't even know what you're apologizing for, you fool."

"I do too!" Harry exclaimed, but the other just shook his head and removed his hand.

"I'm not angry about the comments you made about my sadism making me more prone to lose it completely in case of murder. I actually think you have a solid point, but I was only teasing you. Didn't think you would take it so seriously."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling quite stupid when it was put that way. "Then... why did you storm off like that?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Tom sighed and closed his eyes, as if praying for patience, when Harry simply shook his head bashfully. "We've been over this... I'm sick and tired of your blatant mistrust of me!"

"Mistrust?" Harry asked, not really connecting all the dots.

"Yes," Tom hissed out, "mistrust. You didn't trust me with Legilimency and proceeded to torture me about it, and now you don't trust me with murder. You still think I'm this ticking time bomb that is ready to go off if you're not around to stop it."

"I, no that's not," Harry began to protest, frowning as he thought quickly on the matter. "I _do_ trust you," he insisted a couple of moments later, completely convinced he was right. Tom simply sneered down at him mistrustfully.

"No, you don't. We keep coming back to this, over and over. You're treating me like your project. You're trying to _fix _me into a shape you like so that you won't have to worry."

"No, Tom stop, you're misunderstanding," Harry insisted, grasping the other's hands in his to force him to meet his gaze. "I know you, I am aware of how you work and what you think about. I know what struggles you have to go through, better than anyone. I know that if you'd do certain things, things would turn really bad, fast. But that doesn't mean I don't trust you."

"Yes it does," Tom said coldly, but Harry shook his head with a soft smile on his lips.

"No, it doesn't," he contradicted with certainty. "I do trust you, more than anyone or anything else. You know things about me _no one_ else have, do or ever will. Things that I've only told you because you're the only one I can count on with everything I've got. Only you know what I've done and what I dream of. Only you know how I manipulated Hepzibah Smith, how I made Lora come back to life momentarily, and how I helped you set a little adder on your grandmother so that she screamed in fright. Only you, Tom. I've told no one else. And I trust you to keep the both of us safe. I trust you with my life! I'd count on you for anything. And I know that it might not seem like it, but I do trust you not to push yourself over the line. I do! Not just because I know that you care for me and for what I think of you... But because I know that deep down, you don't want to turn out like _he_ did. I know all that about you, and I swear. I swear to you, Tom. I do trust you."

Tom's eyes had softened considerably during Harry's monologue, and amazingly enough, had not let go if his hands.

Harry vaguely recognised none of the people around them paid them any attention, but was busy staring at something over by the doorway. He didn't pay them any mind in return, however, but busied himself with removing a black gem ring from his right index finger. Tom watched with widening eyes.

"You got it back," he breathed out and numbly accepted the jewellery as Harry placed it safely in his upturned palms. "How..."

"She wasn't pleased with the results... she seemed to have been expecting something far more permanent," Harry answered and then shook his head when Tom made to give the ring back to him. "No, keep it. I don't deserve it. I know you gave it to me, but you thought I was your grandson at the time... I'm not meant to have it, Tom, you should keep it."

The dark eyed youth looked like he would protest for a moment, but then snapped his mouth shut and dully pulled the ring onto his own index finger.

"Do you accept my apology?" Harry wondered, trying his best to hide exactly how worried he was the other would deny him and keep shielding himself. He gasped in surprise as Tom leaned in and wrapped him in a quick but warm embrace.

"I do."

Smiling like the sun, Harry looked up at the other, feeling a desperate itch to reach up and pull his beloved Tom into a fierce kiss. But something in the corner of his eye made him freeze. He turned slowly and stared at the scene before him.

Voldemort had apparently seen it fit to take matters into his own hands to find some entertainment. A few feet away from his lazy form, two old men with greying hair sat on their knees, facing each other with serious expressions. The people surrounding them watched in open confusion. Suddenly, one of the men made a face, and the other one proudly refrained from laughing. Then, he stuck out his tongue as far as he could, but the other man didn't laugh either. Then, they both started throwing faces at each other in quick succession, until suddenly one of them burst out in hysterical giggles that made his beach ball size stomach jump merrily. Voldemort seemed pleased and smiled evilly.

Harry rushed forwards and snagged his arm in a vice-like grip, pulling the oddly compliant form back with him to Tom's side. The two old men got back to their feet with befuddled expressions. The people around them came out of their stupor and burst out in startled laughter.

"Do I have to put a bloody _leash _on you?" he questioned in a furious hiss, getting no reaction at all in return. "Freaking behave your age for once, would you?"

Tom watched the proceedings with a slight twinge of interest in his eyes. "I see he's got his fair share of my more... personal abilities."

"You should have seen him on the way here," Harry said impatiently, letting go of Voldemort's wrist once they'd reached the third one. "Now stay," he warned with a mocking smirk before turning back to Tom, who had risen his eyebrows in surprise at the command that was actually_ followed_ without any sign of complaint. "There were all these Muggles around us, getting the wrong idea, because we had to hold hands not to get too far apart. And he just commanded them all to stand aside – _bowing down_! And I mean all of them. It was insane!"

"Indeed?" Tom murmured, looking at his double with interest for the first time – gone were the fury and disgust in favour of intrigue and hunger for knowledge. "Quite a feat, I'd say. You controlled all of them with a single command?"

"It was easy," Voldemort answered with a curl to the corners of his pale lips. "Controlling the house-elf was far more complex."

"You can control house-elves?" Tom asked demandingly, taking a small step towards the other.

"Naturally," Voldemort answered quietly in his standard self-assured way.

Before the two of them could dive head first into a no doubt deep and equally creepy discussion about possession, Harry cut in with a grumbled comment Voldemort's way. "Would you stop it? You're having a bad influence on him."

"I'm having a bad influence on myself?" came a deeply sarcastic reply, and to his left Tom snorted out a humoured laugh.

"I thought we'd already established the two of you are not the same person," Harry muttered resentfully, feeling strangely left out for being made fun of.

"You are being delusional. You can not possibly believe that to be true," Voldemort stated in a no nonsense tone of voice. "All your arguments on the case are related to a certain set of morals it just so happens the two of us do not share. Something as trifling as that can not distinguish two people with the same _soul_ from each other."

Grudgingly, Harry couldn't find any fault in that logic, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Let's head back," Tom declared and made for the exit.

* * *

The sky had clouded over while the three of them were housed inside the old museum. The streets were still littered with people, but with three of them walking as a tight group, there was no need to hold hands. Voldemort kept at a slight distance behind the other two, who walked side by side, both extremely pleased to be on friendly terms again. Harry was busy telling Tom all about the news on Serena and her father.

"I thought I'd never say this," Tom muttered with a slight sneer, looking ahead at the stone bridge they were slowly closing in on. "But even I realise we could never have done this without her... Perhaps she's not... entirely useless."

Harry grinned widely and let out a short laugh. "I knew you'd come around eventually. Next thing we know, you'll make peace with Dido too."

"That," Tom stated firmly, "will _never_ happen." Harry smiled affectionately at that, the memory of how Dido had slaughtered Tom in a duel all those years ago making him realise the truth in that statement.

"So," Harry continued in a light tone, "seems like things will work out without our help. Imagine that! It'll be so good to get back home."

"I'm sure," his friend answered in a bitter voice. "Back home to your dear family... and your dear girlfriend..."

They had reached the middle of the stone bridge, and Harry stopped dead in his tracks, watching as Tom suddenly realised he was not by his side any more and turned around with a confused expression. The swirling clouds parted into a small crease that let very few sun rays through, creating a divine looking light that travelled over the calmness of the waters below them – making it glitter and sparkle. Harry swallowed against his nervousness. Tom came closer.

"There's something I haven't had the time to tell you about... It all happened so fast – I haven't told anyone. I want you to be the first to know."

Tom narrowed his eyes is mistrust and took another step closer.

"I'm not seeing Eileen any more."

Tom took another step closer, halting only two feet away. His eyes were locked on Harry's own, as if reading the truth out of them. Harry poured all his warm feelings for the other into them, hoping his love and affection would shine through. Around them people hurried up and down the bridge's bent form, creating a swarm of faces Harry paid no mind at all. Tom crossed his arms.

"What happened?"

Harry swallowed thickly. "She broke it off with me."

"I see," Tom answered quietly, face not revealing any emotion. Only, his left eyebrow was crooked in a way that indicated a slight feeling of worry, Harry was certain of it. "And what do you intend to do about it?"

"Nothing," Harry answered at once, hurriedly and truthfully. He had no intention of ever going back to Eileen again.

"Nothing," Tom repeated very quietly, and turned his head a few millimetres to the side. "You do not want to be with her any more?"

All choked up with emotion, desperate for the other to believe in him, Harry shook his head from side to side, feeling traitorous tears creep out from between his eyelashes. "No," he croaked out. "I don't. I can't stand it any more. Only you, Tom. I only want to be with you." The eyebrows on his love's face lost their suspicion. The walls around his person fell for a couple of blissful seconds, and Harry could suddenly breathe again. "I love you, Tom," he gasped out so quietly he wasn't sure he'd been heard at all.

The sun shone uncomfortably in his eye crease, more tears flowed down his flushed cheeks, his fingers itched to curl themselves into beloved black strands of hair.

Then, in a sudden swirl of motion, it all happened at once.

One Tom turned into two, one of them stepping up from behind with a wild and triumphant look on his face, holding a very familiar wand high in his hand. The next moment, Harry stared wide eyed at his Tom as the copy plunged forwards. He was grabbed harshly around the wrist and forcefully pulled into side-along Disapparition while Tom watched with growing terror.

Everything dissolved as Harry was squished through space, and when the world finally came back together again, it portrayed a wild and dark forest he didn't recognise at all.

He landed on his bum as a booted foot kicked his chest harshly.

From above, his own wand was pointed at him by a red eyed monster in disguise. Voldemort's pale mouth twisted into a sadistic leer and he laughed a horrible laugh that inspired cold fear into the very bones of the pale youth, who was left at his complete mercy.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for your wonderful reviews and the continued support. We're closing in on the end – there's only two, possibly three, chapters left of this part of the story. Can't wait to write the third and final installation of this series. Just like dear Voldemort, I'm getting sentimental ;)_

_Mischief managed! _


	16. Powerless

**By Your Side**

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Beta read by Arithmancy Master.

Chapter Sixteen

_Powerless_

* * *

The tables had indeed turned, Harry thought with dread as he lay on his back and glared up at the tip of his own wand, which was being held captive in a foreign left hand. Voldemort smirked cruelly down at him and shook his head patronisingly. He quite obviously enjoyed having the upper hand on his enemy, and his true colours were shining through at last.

Harry felt quite ignorant once he realised the weak and harmless act the evil man had pulled on him earlier had simply been a ploy for him to let his guard down. And down it had gone. Deep down. Plunged, to be exact, in the face of having Tom by his side again.

He'd put too much trust into his own physical strength, in his own abilities to pin his foe down and make him _harmless_. But he had never been harmless. He had simply been lying low, biding his time, aiming carefully before striking quickly and surely. Letting him roam free with the sole assurance he couldn't stray too far from his own self had been foolish – of course the man would find a way, he always did. He always snaked his way back somehow.

He thought himself quite stupid, indeed.

Apparently the smirking man threatening him thought him stupid too, for he tutted mockingly down at him from his superior position.

"Harry, Harry," he said, sounding very disappointed. "How cruelly life has treated you... I almost find myself regretting..." His face twisted into a maniacal grin and he laughed coldly and without emotion. "No, how could I ever regret – here I am, alive and as powerful as ever... However poorly my new-found body has been treated as of late..."

All expression left his face completely in favour of a stale mask of indifference placing itself as a shield over his complexion. "I have to say," he said quietly, "I found myself quite intrigued by how utterly unforgiving... violent... and _sadistic_ you can be when you put your back into it, Harry."

The young wizard's head flew backwards in a violent motion, hitting the stony and uneven ground below him, as a merciless kick landed on the right side of his jaw. He whined pitifully and had to grind his teeth together because of the immediate and sharp pain. Feeling a couple of fallen chestnuts from the surrounding trees dig their way into his sore back, as if intent on making it all even worse for him, he couldn't help but twist around to find solace, almost hitting his head against a large stump to his left in the process.

Voldemort's mouth twisted beloved features into a deadly grin at the same time Harry came to the defeating conclusion he couldn't possibly escape. If he got too far from the other's presence his soul would split from his body and he would die. On the bright side, the same thing would happen to his nemesis, so perhaps if things got too far out of hand...

A wordless spell left the tip of the holly wand and sped straight for its owner's left cheek, slamming into it with a force that slung his head to the side without restraint. The pain left him breathless for a moment, barely registering how he was pulled to his feet and forcefully pinned against a wide, oaken tree trunk by a heavy wave of oppressive magic. After shaking his head a little, his vision became clear as day once more, taking in the darkening sky above the tall and rampant crowns of the leafy trees. Soon, the world around them would darken, and if this was (like Harry suspected) a magical forest, he would be in really bad trouble without his wand. On the other hand, the deadliest thing in this forest had already caught him and was currently coming closer, very slowly, with the looks of a hungry predator eyeing its prey.

Harry swallowed thickly as the older wizard pressed the length of his young body against his own. The man smiled in apparent excitement and ran a careful hand down the pale, slightly hollowed cheek before him, letting his fingers travel down to clamped lips where they came to a quiet rest. Voldemort's smile vanished and the man looked contemplative all of a sudden.

"What is it about you that draws his attention," he whispered in a mystified tone of voice, tilting his head an inch to the side. It made him look strangely young and vulnerable.

The man's long thumb pulled back and swept over the lower lip in front of it in a slow motion. Harry swallowed in discomfort. He had been kicked and punched already... would he get bitten too? The mere thought made his eyes swirl in utter hate and disgust, a reaction that made a sadistic smirk appear on the other's handsome face.

"I didn't kick you, you know," he said in a clear voice, masking his fear with resolute bravery. "I suppose you're taking out your revenge on me, right? 'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth'? Well, I didn't do it, did I?"

Voldemort's smirk widened into an infernal leer. _Hades_, Harry thought bitterly. "I haven't forgotten..." the diabolical man swore quietly, moving the hand down to rest on his victim's collarbone while leaning in to lay his mouth next to a tense ear. "Sweet Serena will be graced with a gift of her own, whenever I find the time..."

Harry made a furious attempt to get free of the restraints holding him against rough bark, letting out a furious snarl and maybe moving an inch. His captor laughed breathily, making his hot breath travel down the unshielded neck.

Harry felt himself become slightly light-headed and out of breath because of the fear mulling through his head. The fear Voldemort would never let him go, but leave him there. His rational mind knew the man couldn't, but what would happen when the Abstinence bond was broken? Would he be killed, would he be tortured? Harry didn't think he'd ever hated anyone as fiercely as he hated Voldemort in that moment.

"I bit you, you kicked me. We're even," he argued from behind clenched teeth.

Voldemort laughed in twisted humour and shied back a little so that their eyes could meet in a furious battle between pure hate and pure amusement.

"Are you trying to bargain with _death_, Harry?" The older wizard leered down at him and shook his head minutely.

"Death?" The corners of his thin lips curled in mocking confidence he didn't feel. "I think _someone_ has a megalomania complex. You might want to add that one to your long, long list of mental diseases."

He drew in a deep breath in relief when the Lord of Hubris shrank away at last, letting go of his face and walking off to the right with a giddy expression. He watched Voldemort study the wand in his hand, touching it fondly, before pointing it back at its owner. The red beams of the setting sun gave his deceivingly angelic features a warm hue, making the otherwise pale complexion seem healthier, somehow.

"I find myself feeling quite strongly for this wand," the man claimed, giving it a fond stroke with his thumb. "How curious, it makes me wonder, the wand that chose me when I first found out about magic... It felt so similar. The wood is different, but the core perhaps might be similar..." he said quietly.

Harry swallowed nervously, well aware the wands were in fact "twins", but he kept quiet despite this knowledge.

"It makes me wonder, truly," Voldemort continued, "since this wand is so similar to the one reserved for myself, since it feels so _right _in my hand... Did it choose you, or was it in fact set on _me_ from the start? Will this wand even work for you now when I'm free of you?"

"Give it here and we can test that theory," Harry replied smartly, making the other smirk lazily at him.

"No," he simply stated and started prancing in front of him, like a lion closing in on a prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. "I have my own theory to test... _Crucio_!"

Excruciating pain raced through Harry's body, like a thousand little needles through his skin, pinching him to the very bone. His blood was on fire, coursing through his veins to spread the pain to the most distant places, all they way out to his curled up little toes. He screamed, pulled against the restraints, wishing for anything, _anything_, that would make the pain go away.

And then, it went away, and he sagged in relief. With a _whoosh_, and a malevolent crackle in a close proximity, the dark magic retracted and he fell heavily to the ground. His entire body was shivering in the aftermath of utmost pain, the feeling lingering in his numb limbs.

"Get up." It was a command, but Harry didn't think he would have been able to follow it even if he had wanted to. And now, the mere thought of doing anything even in relation to what Voldemort wanted made him sick to his stomach.

A short-tempered kick hit him in the side when he didn't move. It barely hurt, but it made Harry call out in utter fury nonetheless. He made a violent motion with his arm in Voldemort's general direction, but the man only laughed at him, crouching down next to him with a patronising pat on his head.

Harry clenched his jaw against the violent feelings of shame that assaulted him right then, lying at the feet of his foe, utterly unable to defend himself. How would he ever get out of this mess? Could he overpower Voldemort somehow – he _was_ the stronger one after all... But the Cruciatus Curse had weakened him considerably, and he wasn't confident at all he would be able to muster enough energy to even try his luck.

Could he imitate what the sneaky old bastard had pulled on him; could he act weak and harmless long enough to get a chance to snatch the wand back?

Dark doubt swirled around in his stomach when he recalled what Voldemort had thought aloud only moments ago. Would the wand even work for him now? Had it been dedicated to the leech attached to his soul this whole time? He couldn't be sure until he tried, because, from the moment Voldemort was pulled out of him he hadn't touched his own wand once.

As if reading his mind, the shadowed face above broke into a dark leer that twisted all former handsomeness beyond recognition. There was an emotionless snicker, and then Harry felt the hand resting on his head dig its long digits into the dark locks and pulling harshly. Reluctantly, and very slowly, he followed the crude command and got to his feet. His legs were shaking and felt wobbly, but he stood, dead set on inspiring no more spite than necessary in his captor, lest he receive another shower of ear-splitting pain.

The older wizards started moving at a quick pace, and Harry struggled to keep up, the first of his steps slow and unsteady. But the pain started to numb as soon as he had started walking, and after straightening his back and gritting his teeth, he managed to keep up with Voldemort without burning himself by pushing the Abstinence bond.

Where they were headed, he had no clue. Everything looked the same, in his opinion, just a bunch of leafy trees scattered around, with a couple of bushes and rocks scattered at random on the mossy ground. Birds twittered merrily in the tree tops. There were loads of them, and their shrieks created an odd sort of symphony that rang all around the lightly dressed wizards. Once, Harry thought he saw the tail end of a doe jumping away in the distance, and another time he'd been sure he saw the floppy ears of a brown hare stick up from under thick, green vegetation.

They had been trekking on along the narrow forest path for approximately twenty minutes when Harry awkwardly stumbled over a sneaky root and promptly felt something shift inside of his right pocket. His heart made a jolt once he realised what it was. Doing his best not to let his excitement show in his face he made a casual hand movement over the side of his pants, as if sweeping away obnoxious forest dirt, and almost burst in joy once he felt the miraculously undamaged two-way mirror lying there.

He could contact Tom! Actually, he was surprised his one and only hadn't already called out to him through the mirror. Perhaps he had had foresight enough to realise Voldemort would instantly crush the fragile means of communication if it was revealed to him. The monster already knew of it, Harry recalled with dread, but so far he seemed to have put the thing out of his mind.

When would be the best moment to use it? Harry pondered on that with a racing pulse, praying to Merlin his nemesis wouldn't suddenly turn around and start search through his pockets. But so far, evil-on-legs didn't seem to notice him at all, to Harry's utmost relief.

If he managed to open up the connection to the brother mirror he would be able to show Tom a glimpse of the scenery. Just like one could Apparate to a place where one previously had never been with the use of a simple photography, the picture out of a magical mirror would also suffice. So with a clear picture in mind, Tom would be able to Apparate, and then all would be alright, because he would save him and they would be together again.

But when to take out the mirror? It had to be at a time when his captor was very distracted and didn't pay him any mind. Perhaps if he managed to distract him, or if...

"You're awfully quiet, Harry. Do you find my company so utterly despicable you can not even _try_ to keep up polite conversation?" Voldemort asked with an amused glance over his shoulder.

Harry simply raised his eyebrows at stared straight at the other man. "Yes," he deadpanned and watched as Voldemort shook his head in mock regret.

"Such a shame. We have so little time together until the bond disables and enables me to kill you, and that so very precious time is bound to be spent in silence... Isn't that depressing? We've grown so _tight_ after all, _Harry_." The man laughed at his own choice of words. "Very well, I shall entertain you, then."

Harry groaned in dismay. _More_ of Voldemort's self-centred chitter-chatter? Why did the devil of a man have to refocus on him the very moment he was praying the hardest to be forgotten about?

"The first time I visited Albania –" _Albania_! Harry thought frantically, carefully memorising it "– was in 1946, I recall, it was right after... Oh yes, dear Hepzibah Smith, what a charming old lady... But I suppose you know all about her _charms_, don't you, Harry?"

The rigid teen felt his cheeks pale dramatically. "Her charms?"

"I must commend your very _diabolical_ plot, Harry, fooling an old, harmless witch so cruelly. Using your own body as the means to an end... Not even _I_ went quite that far."

The sadistic old bastard chuckled to himself and Harry felt his own blood run cold. "How much did you actually _see_ when you were... mimicking a tic?"

Voldemort smirked a smirk of hidden answers, clearly amused. "Bits and snippets. It was somewhat similar to when I possessed that fool Quirell in the nineties. Basically the same procedure, except my strength was not as well developed originally. In _his_ body I had full control. I could take over whenever I wanted to, give way for him to gather more strength... With you I didn't have much strength, or control. I didn't even possess the ability to form a face at the back of your head –"

The man stopped mid-sentence when he caught sight of Harry's disgusted expression. He snickered quietly and started anew.

"I digress – Yes, the first time I travelled across the globe, to find and explore... Oh yes, dear Hepzibah, quite a backpacker that one. That was one interesting collection from the most distant of places, she held... Of course, after I killed her I couldn't help but collect a few of her items for myself. What use would she have of them in the afterlife, I asked myself? But then again, her trinkets were the very reason I killed her from the start."

"You are a monster," Harry spelled out, glaring daggers into the other's back. Voldemort let out a humourless laugh and glanced back at him.

"Treasures often times prove useful, Harry, remember that," he said in a mock lecturing voice and, to the younger wizard's complete confusion, dived head first into a hollow tree trunk. A moment later, he pulled out again, dragging a quite small, but apparently heavy chest of medieval design. Harry frowned in wonder, rendered speechless. _What the bloody_...?

The Lord of Surprises lifted the chest out of the seemingly random tree and put it down onto the ground, making it let out a heavy sounding _chunk_ once it made impact with the mossy carpet. He pointed the stolen wand at it, waved it about in complete silence and there was a dull _click_ of the lock snapping away. The lid flew open, revealing gold – lots and lots of gold, almost flowing over the rim, glittering in a red hue in the light of the setting sun. And on top of it all lay a handsome, sapphire jewelled crown. No, Harry thought, it wasn't a crown exactly...

"The Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw," Voldemort stated quietly, with affection and a possessive gleam in his swirling red eyes, as he crouched before the treasure to inspect it with deft hands.

Harry carefully considered whether he should take his chances and sneak out the mirror now that his captor was properly distracted, but it proved impossible as Voldemort suddenly snapped the lid of the chest closed again and stood up with a gleeful expression on his face.

"Pick it up," he demanded, looking at his captive expectantly. Harry simply crossed his arms over his chest with an unimpressed expression. "No?" Voldemort asked in a purr full of danger.

"_Imperio_!" he called out with a vicious stab of the wand, and Harry immediately felt that 'I'm on cloud nine' mindless feeling of lazy contentment. He felt like he could do anything. _Would_ do anything just to feel this feeling. _Yes_, said a persuasive voice in his head, _it'll be easy... you are so strong and the chest is so small... you want to carry it... you will carry it..._

Yes, Harry thought to himself, it'll be easy. He walked over to the chest, with a fuzzy feeling flowing through his chest. It felt so good to bend down and scoop the load up. It was easy, just like he had known it would be.

Mindlessly, contently, he followed the tall form of his master obediently. The knowledge he was being good, he was doing right, made him very happy.

_Why_, came an unbidden voice from his insides, _why does it make him happy? It's just a chest, he's just carrying it. It shouldn't make him happy, should it?_

Slowly, the twinkling haze cleared from his confused mind and he could think properly again. Voldemort had cast the Imperius Curse at him, forcing him to act the slave. At first, it made him boil in anger. But then, a flicker of a second later, he forced himself to calm down and think rationally. If he wanted to make it out of this mess alive, he would have to act his age and think logically. If Voldemort thought he was under his complete influence he would let his guard down. That way, Harry might get his estimated chance to contact Tom, or even better – snatch the wand and take charge of the situation.

He kept his head down and kept on following Voldemort to wherever the widening forest path was leading them.

* * *

The leafy forest path soon became a robust gravel road. The trees diminished and opened up to an open surrounding which led to the ledge of a cliff. Below was another thick cluster of leafy trees and then, in the far away distance, the open ocean lay billowing in the darkness of the summer night. Just by the ledge there was a house, a mansion in old stone, looking very run down and spooky. As if cut out of some Muggle horror film, Harry observed.

Voldemort seemed lost in thought, but as they walked up the dirty steps to the mansion's front porch, his face lit up in unveiled anticipation. They barged in without knocking, entering into a dusty hallway with an old, unlit chandelier full of cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. The walls were dark and wooden, and on the floor lay a torn Persian rug that led into a dark room with heavy, satin curtains shielding the windows from view.

Once he stepped inside of that room, Harry noticed a fire crackled merrily in the hearth and saw that the candlesticks on the walls were aflame. In a blood red armchair in front of the fireplace, sitting with a wine glass full of thick, red liquid in his long fingered hand, was what could only be a vampire. It was studying them with black eyes, its ears long and pointed, and when it grinned in delight, sharp incisors could be seen behind its dark red lips.

"_Mirëmbrëma_," it said in a hoarse whisper and took a slow sip out of the glass of blood. It licked its lips as it stood, putting the glass away at a low table and then bending down in a short bow before Voldemort. Its eyes sparkled with dark interest.

Voldemort smirked at it and inclined his head. "Aleksander, _mirëmbrëma._"

The vampire frowned in confusion, carefully racking his brain for a reason the unknown wizard would know him by name. "_A unë ju di?_" he asked carefully, and Voldemort's smile widened as he raised his wand.

"No." He flicked his wrist violently, and out of the wooden tip burst a giant snake made out of pure flame. The vampire shied back, but too late; the fire engulfed it, the comfortable looking armchair and the lone glass of blood, all in one go. Harry's stomach churned as the smell of burnt flesh reached his nose, but when the fire was banished, all that remained was ash.

Voldemort snickered quietly and turned back around, heading for the hallway which held a dark and half rotten staircase, giving off a sweet allure of mysteries to be found on the second level of the old house. Harry followed the other man up the squeaking steps, his arms and shoulders aching from carrying the heavy chest of gold for so long. He knew Voldemort could have just used Apparition to take them here, but he had no doubt dismissed the simple solution in favour of feeling some sick sense of fulfilment for making his slave boy carry his heavy treasure for so long.

The first floor was just as dark and dusty as the ground floor had been, Harry judged as he was taken into an old study with curling wallpapers on the walls to the right, the left side of the room completely covered in crammed bookshelves. In the middle of the room stood a heavy oaken desk with an uncomfortable looking desk chair in the same material behind it. Behind him, next to the doorway, stood a huge oaken wardrobe that made Harry think about the Chronicles of Narnia.

Seemingly at random, Voldemort stepped up to the bookcase and pulled out a thick volume. A flick of the holly wand later it was completely dust free and Harry could just barely make out the title. _Magjia e shpirtit_ – it was clearly not in English.

This whole ordeal made him wonder just how many languages Voldemort knew. As far as Harry knew, the man hadn't returned to Britain until the seventies, so where had he been hiding in the meantime? Had he possessed the same wishes of travel and adventure, seeking knowledge from all around the world, as Tom did right this moment? Was that how he learned Italian and Albanian? What other languages did he know? French? Japanese? Swahili?

Struggling to keep his vacant expression, Harry slowly followed orders when he was mentally commanded to put the chest down and sit down. Voldemort himself had taken a seat in a very comfortable looking, conjured armchair – not unlike the one he'd scorched to death just moments ago. The only other chair in the room was the one behind the desk, but Harry figured the words would be taken quite literally if he had actually still been under the influence of Voldemort's magic, so he simply sat down on the floor where he stood and waited obediently as the other man slowly leafed through the heavy tome in his lap.

He had conjured a lit candle that was hovering next to his head, for practical purposes, and its flame was flickering weakly. The soft shine lit up the side of Voldemort's concentrated face, making his cheeks look more hollowed out than usual, pronouncing the darkness of his eye sockets. He almost looked skeletal in his seat; the man who had just killed an immortal creature in his own home.

Harry sat still on his knees, struggling to stay completely placid, while Voldemort turned page after page. After each page his smile widened further and further. At last, when he snapped the leather bound covers together and arose from his very relaxed position, his expression was positively gleeful. He started to search through the many titles with his back to Harry, chuckling under his breath, and let out a pleased _hum_ once he found something of interest and pulled it out of its designated spot on the shelf.

He took a seat once again, crossed his legs and curiously refrained from cracking his new book open. He looked thoughtful for a moment, before smirking lazily and finally opening his book.

_Come, crawl closer_, came a sudden purr inside of Harry's unprepared mind, and he immediately hurried to do as asked to keep up appearances. On hands and knees, he crawled towards the older wizard, and came to a stop by his feet like he was ordered to do. A dark chuckle escaped the man, and he slowly bent forwards to let his slim hand travel though Harry's wild lock of hair in an absurd mimic of a caress. "Good dog," he whispered with bloody eyes that _sparkled_ in mirth. Harry jerked back, slapped the hand away and scurried to his feet.

"I must say, Harry, I find myself quite impressed," Voldemort said quietly, leaning back in his chair again, twirling the holly wand in his left hand. "Strong-willed enough to throw off the Imperius Curse? Or should I say 'pigheaded' enough?"

"How long have you known?" Harry demanded in a disgusted tone, the very thought of his nemesis stringing him along like that for his own amusement was purely sickening.

Voldemort only grinned mischievously at him and stood up in a fluid motion, leaving the book behind on his seat as he made his way forwards purposefully. Harry stood his ground proudly, knowing he couldn't get far anyway, and let out a surprised yelp when he was roughly grabbed by the hair and pulled towards the other side of the room. With cold, fearful dread he realised just what Voldemort was about to do with him.

"No," he begged, eyeing the big, dark wardrobe with pure phobia swirling through his veins. "Please no," he insisted, but his captor only grinned down at him and threw the two oaken doors open wide as if giving him a well-meant invitation. "NO!" he bellowed, but it was no use, a dark rush of magic slammed into his furiously struggling body and forced him inside. Pinned to the back of the heavy clothing storage, he watched through eyes hazed by fear how the red-eyed man took hold of both doors leading out of the dark pit of hell and slowly nudged them shut.

He was left in the deep darkness, left alone even by the oppressive, dark magic that had previously been holding him. He slammed his fists on the jammed doors in front, shouting and clawing. When nothing happened he tried desperately to will himself to calm. His heart was beating a hole through his chest and his ears were filled with his own furious breathing. He had to stop, otherwise the air would run out on him, he thought desperately and swallowed several times against the lump in his throat. Carefully, he sank down onto the ground and leaned against one of the side walls, unable to make his hands refrain from clawing away at the front and back of the wardrobe.

Dark memories of pacing in his clammy room in Little Winging assaulted him, memories of having his neck tortured in a crowded bathroom, memories of falling into dark pools of water pressing in on him while he was forcing himself to keep swimming down, down, down.

He remembered lying helplessly tied up on a bed while a bald man with huge glasses pulled Tom from his own bed, taking him away, away, away...

_Tom_! his mind screamed at him and reluctantly the memories shied away momentarily as he pulled the mirror out of his pocket and held it in front of his face with shaky hands. This was his chance.

"Tom?" he whispered into it, waiting with bated breath for an answer. "Tom?" he insisted with a heavy lump pressing uncomfortably in his throat.

The relief that flowed through him when he got a quietly hissed out reply was pure ecstasy for his tortured mind. "Harry, where are you?"

"He locked me into a bloody wardrobe," he breathed out and then mentally slapped himself for wasting precious time with his ramblings. "No, sorry, in Albania. We're in Albania."

"Albania?" Tom asked silently, going quiet for a couple of heart beats that hurt Harry to the core. "Do you know where?"

"No, er..." Harry started, desperately racking his mind for some useful information he'd picked up on. "We're close to the sea, in a deep forest... He took me to this old house and killed its owner... A vampire called... I think he said Alexander?"

"Alexander? What else?" Tom's face was set in a stony expression, his dark green eyes full of intent, and Harry just wished he was there with him right now. He felt so alone...

"I don't know," he murmured, trying to take calming breaths. "I just – I was going to hold the mirror up so that you could Apparate, once he was busy, but then I had to act like... and now it's too dark... Tom," he said in a vulnerable voice, "what if he doesn't let me out of here?"

"He will," Tom stated at once, not looking the least doubtful. It calmed Harry down at once. "He won't risk you dying in there if he'll die too... Don't worry, it'll be alright, Harry, do you hear me? I'll come for you, so just hold on, alright?"

Harry nodded shakily, his body trembling as he concentrated on Tom's calming presence and away from the strong urge telling him to get up and start banging on the doors again.

"Harry?"

"... yeah, it's fine... it's fine..."

"Harry, calm down, please, breathe properly." He sounded concerned. "For me."

_For him. Do it for him._ "Tom," Harry said, doing his best to calm his breathing, but not doing any good. His forehead was bathing in sweat and his whole back was itching uncomfortably. "Tom, I don't know... I don't know... What if I can't do this?"

"You can, Harry." There was no hesitation again. He was so sure, so certain.

"I don't know... I don't..."

Suddenly there was light and fresh air as the doors were brutally pulled apart and in their wake stood a furious Voldemort. He looked absolutely livid as he pulled the brass mirror out of Harry's clammy hands, took a quick look into it with a sneer, and then tossed it right into the wall. The one with the curling wallpaper on it. It shattered in an explosion of glass.

Harry screamed furiously and flung himself at Voldemort's turned away body, making them both tumble to the ground. For one brilliant moment he thought he was free, he thought he had him again. But then, dark magic started pulling at him and he was thrown into the wall, just like his last hopes had been before him. Little shards of glass dug into his hands and legs when he landed.

Voldemort came towards him, powerful dark magic swirling around his furious form. On his face he wore a stiff smile, but his eyes looked colder than ice. He came to a stop in front of Harry's fallen form. "I am going to _enjoy_ killing you, Harry Potter," he stated quietly, hunching down to force eye contact. "I am going to make it really slow and painful for you. I'll dedicate all of my creative ingenuity into your murder. I will Cruciate you until your screams run out. Then, I'll crack your skin open and peel it away. I'll drain you of blood and use it to strengthen myself. I'll cover you in Aconite leaves and let them swim in your open skin to slowly poison your entire nerve system. At last I'll tear you up, limb by limb. You'll feel so much pain that you'll _beg _me, your merciful saviour, to kill you. To end your torture. You'll beg for _death_, Harry Potter."

The very unnerved teen swallowed thickly and smartly refrained from commenting. He just sat there, feeling nothing but desperate hopelessness while his future slayer got to his feet, flicked his wand to make the restricting magic seep away, and made for the door. With another flick of his wand, the heavy chest of gold shrunk and fitted itself into his pocket, and he was out of the door.

Harry slowly got to his feet. Then, he followed in quiet despair.

Voldemort didn't turn around once.

* * *

They were at a cave. They had been walking for what seemed like forever, and now they were at the mouth of a dark cave. What Voldemort had against Apparition, if he just liked torturing Harry by making him wonder, he did not know. And now they were walking into the cave.

When his eyes had adjusted to the complete darkness, he could make out a low dais in the middle of the surprisingly big room. The tip of the holly wand lit up with the Wand-lighting Charm, and the cave became less obscure and more inviting instantly.

Now, Harry saw a sort of pedestal on top of the dais, which in turn had a bowl-shaped construction on top. The thing was bulky and entirely made out of dark stone. In side of the bowl was a glaring green liquid that emitted a sickly gleam to the inside of the stone construction.

In the roof of the grand space, Harry spotted a couple of stalactites, and the weak sound of slight fluttering and shifting could be heard if he strained his ears. He strongly suspected there to be bats. Or perhaps, if he was very unlucky, pixies.

The two wizards came to a halt next to the conspicuous basin of potion. Voldemort stepped up onto the dais and hovered his hands over it with a gleeful expression. Harry did his best to shy away into the shadows.

"The Drink of Despair," the man of nightmares claimed in a voice that sounded positively tickled. "Very clever. I used it once myself... Well, a variation, I must confess. I found this _ancient_ version a little too meek for my tastes, so I simply tweaked it a bit for my own purposes... I added a little of this and that. Increased the intense pain a notch, improved the lifelike visions of pure fear... And then, a deep sense of thirst that would lure them to where I wanted them." The sadistic old man snickered self-assuredly. "Too bad it was so well made a trap... It was never put to the test. _This one_, though."

Voldemort turned to Harry with a wicked leer that told of promises full of pain. A flick of the wand later and a goblet appeared out of thin air. On its own, it scooped up a brimful of the glowing green potion and then hovered closer to Harry's rigid person. A familiar rush of dark magic froze his body on the spot and forced his head to tilt backwards, his mouth to open.

He could do nothing more than stand in complete helplessness as the goblet halted over his open mouth, tilted and let its fluids drip down slowly but surely. Every now and then, the stream of potion halted as the empty cup flowed away and he was allowed to swallow, and then it would all start over again once it was refilled. He could do nothing to hinder it. He couldn't turn away, he couldn't close his mouth and he couldn't spit the drink out.

Slowly, the potion took effect on his defenceless mind and everything started to haze. The edges of his vision became blurry and he could hear voices inside of his head, reminding him of things in the past. Things that he'd rather forget about.

His body was let go of and promptly fell to the ground in a limp heap. Next to his head the goblet made impact with a _clink_, and then vanished in a puff of dark smoke. Voldemort laughed coldly.

Memories rushed through his head, pictures as clear as day of moments he was still tortured by when lying in bed late at night.

_He was standing by the railings of a balcony, his back towards the Forbidden Forest, and watched with a breaking heart how Tom looked at him with pure contempt and marched back into the castle. His lips were sore from a harsh manhandling and he screamed in agony when the beloved bastard left him behind. And it was his own fault. _

From his curled up position, he watched Voldemort climb back up upon the dais with a wild, triumphant look on his face. He reached out into the basin and picked something up. From what Harry could make out, it was a little trinket that the nightmarish man inspected with help from the light at the tip of the wand. He laughed victoriously.

_He was surrounded by old houses, pressing onto each other tightly, and unexpectedly there were tall trees in the very random park. Next to him on the park bench sat his supposed girlfriend, the girl he liked so much but didn't love. The girl he had come to dread seeing, the girl who had seen right through him. She flew to her feet and he followed, snatching her wrist to stop her. She whipped around and pulled free. "__Don't. Lie. To. Me... I don't know why you went through all this trouble... You were just leading me on," she hissed out accusingly. "Just leading me on, leading me on, leading me on," the world echoed behind her, and Harry was so ashamed of himself. Ashamed because it was true... He had never really wanted her._

Voldemort stepped down from the dais and held the trinket high, inspecting it, tapping it carefully with the wand. Then he broke out in a crackle that made the bats in the ceiling flee for their lives in a swirl of shrieks and flapping black wings.

_He was standing in the middle of a crowded cobblestone street. All around him people were panicking. The wards had broken down and black clad, malicious witches and wizards were appearing everywhere. Tom was holding him back, stopping him from rushing forwards and checking. Lora! She was... she couldn't be... "NO!" he shouted in a raw imitation of a human voice._

Voldemort held out his hand, palm up, and the trinket started to float up, up, up. It emitted a beautiful, golden shine and started twirling round, round, round. Voldemort opened his mouth wide and tilted his head back. His chest started convulsing.

_The asylum... pain... desperate fear... despair... loss..._

"TOM!" he screamed at the same time Voldemort let out an ear-splitting shout of agony and started to twist back and forwards, hovering mid-air, arms spread wide. The surrounding cave walls became less and less shadowed as the trinket let out a gleam brilliant as the sun. In an explosion of colours, six little prisms shot towards the floating Dark Lord and sank into his mouth. The scream that ripped out of him as he sank to the ground made Harry whimper in involuntary sympathy.

_In the Ministry of Magic. He had his wand pointed at a convulsing man at his feet, under his influence. His pain. Shame washed over him, desperate disgust at what he was doing, but he couldn't stop it. The monster was too strong. Too much. He couldn't help but think about how good it felt to have a powerful man lying at his feet. How he wanted more powerful people at his feet, crawling... The self-disgust was overwhelming. _

Voldemort was stumbling around, still suffering intense pain, but there was a blur of motion in the other end of the cave, and suddenly the man was there too... _No_, Harry thought with a clenching feeling in his chest. _Tom_! It was Tom!

_The maze-like corridors were all around him and he cruelly slammed his fist right into Voldemort's unprotected cheek. He raised his fist to do it again, but the look in his nemesis' face stopped him, made him halt. Fear... The look twisted into a look of malevolence and hate. Harry flew back onto his back and the evil chestnuts dug their way into his skin. Above him, Voldemort pointed his own wand at him. "You are so naïve, stupid... you sorry creature... your own stupidity put you here... How could you even begin to trust your worst enemy?" Intense shame rushed through him as the Torture Curse hit him square in the chest. _

Voldemort and Tom danced around each other, stabbing their wands about, making creatures of deadly nature erupt and fight against each other. They shot spell after spell at each other, Voldemort's nastier since he was allowed to kill the other, Tom's more precise since he wasn't suffering mind-numbing pain at the same time. A particularly nasty curse flew past Tom, almost hitting him, and Harry scurried to his feet. Swaying. _Tom_! No one heard his desperate cry.

_The bed in front of him was aflame. The fire scorched the ceiling of the small room, and Tom yelled desperately next to him. A little black book sailed through the air, together with Harry's last hopes. He intended to die in that room. The book hit the fire and Tom flung himself at him, angry, fearful, desperate. Harry laughed. Laughed when Tom was in that state. Laughed in the face of death because of some nonsense that had been so ridiculously important to him at the time. How could he have thrown away life that easily? It was so stupid, so embarrassingly stupid. Shame engulfed him._

The fight continued, fiercer and fiercer by the second. Harry tried to call out, make them stop, help Tom somehow. But it was just as if he was both invisible and numb. As if he had been hit by the Full Body-Bind Curse.

_He was standing in the burning room, just before it came aflame. His last hopes, his sweet cousin. Charlus was standing staring wide-eyed at Tom. Frozen as well. And Tom had never performed the spell before. This was his last hopes, the last solution. Charlus would help him, would save him... The spell travelled out of the yew wand. Charlus' blue eyes dulled. And Harry was forced to watch, but nobody could see him... _

Voldemort got a powerful shot in that exploded in a swirl of oppressive dark magic, right at Tom. He fell, as if in slow motion, landing heavily on his back. He hissed furiously and gripped his head in obvious pain.

_NO!_ Harry screamed inside his mind and threw himself forwards, towards the copy. The evil copy. His fist connected with the recently healed jaw and they both tumbled to the ground. Miraculously, Harry got the wand, and he immediately got to his feet, running for the curled up form of his love. _Tom! _But somebody came up behind him, so he snapped around and pointed the wand at Voldemort's frozen form.

_Completely still. Ready to strike. He knew what to do, he had the wand. "You could have stunned her, snatched the locket and then obliviated her. You could have fucking killed her!" Tom's words echoed inside his head. _

"I don't kill people," he insisted aloud, stupidly. Voldemort still stood completely frozen before him.

_He knew what to do. It had to be done. He'd get expelled... no... killed... no... found out by the Aurors... no... Something bad was going to happen. He knew what to do. _

Desperately, Voldemort unfroze and charged towards him, aiming for the wand. Harry panicked and waved the wand.

_He had to, he knew what to do. Dull eyes, vacant expression. Safety. _

A sickly green beam of light erupted from the holly wand, reluctantly, as if it personally didn't want to do it. Harry screamed, because he thought he might have fired a Killing Curse, and that was bad because...

_Charlus!_

_Lora!_

_Tom!_

Because it would kill him too.

When the beam connected with Voldemort's racing body the man immediately flew backwards, knocked back by the sheer power of the spell that Harry couldn't identify. He hadn't spoken any incantation. Neither aloud nor in his mind.

_With a vacant expression, Charlus left the room. Left Harry behind. He tried to scream at him, do anything, but he was frozen in place. Left with no choice but to watch his last hope leave him behind. He was alone... alone... _

A warm presence appeared at his back and carefully, as if not to startle him, wrapped his arms around him. Harry shivered and tried to refrain from breaking down in desperate sobs. The will to rid himself of all despair sobbing desperately inside his mind. "Tom," he whispered brokenly, "make it stop. Please, make it stop."

The arms clutched him closer, fiercely, and the shape of a nose pressed itself into the hair just above his left ear. An inhalation. Then, a cold wooden tip tapped against his temple and everything dissolved into blessed, mindless darkness.

* * *

_A/N: As always, I am so very grateful that you read this and I hope that you also liked it. Thank you to all of you who has reviewed the previous chapters, and an especially warm thank you to you anonymous reviewers who I have been unable to write a reply to. It saddens me I can't reply, but that's just the way it works. If you ever feel the need to ask anything or just have a conversation with me, feel free to send me a pm with your e-mail address. _

_And, as per request from my Beta Reader (and a very ticked off Harry), the next two chapters will be much, much calmer. See you soon!_

_Mischief managed! _

_(P.S. _To BlueAnchor: _Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews. They made me smile so widely! We'll soon find out what Tom is planning, I promise. Oh yes, the flirtatious Harry painting. Actually, it was in this part of the story, chapter... er, 4 I believe? Haha! I sincerely hope you meant you wanted fluff with Serena and Abraxas, and not Serena and Mrs Zabini. That would just be... odd. But, yes sure, there should be some more Serena/Aby love love in the next chapter *nods* Haha! *glances at Harry with mischievous grin* "You're a damsel in distress, Harry. Did you know?" ...Perhaps I should try to be nicer to him? I'm so glad you enjoy the story. Hopefully, you liked this chapter as well.) _


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